phoebe🐞

I literally obsess over older men

[paigepie213]

I Wanted To Hurt You - Dr. Robby x Female Reader

Summary - a year into a relationship means you both know how to hurt one another.

Mature Read**

Masterlist

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The elevator ride up to the cardiothoracic floor felt twice as long as usual, which was saying something considering PTMC’s elevators already moved like they were being powered by exhausted interns manually hauling ropes somewhere above the ceiling. You stood near the back corner with your coffee balanced carefully in one hand and your work bag hanging off your shoulder, staring numbly at the glowing floor numbers while two surgical residents beside you whispered frantically over pre-op notes for a valve replacement later that morning. Normally you would have jumped in by now, offered reassurance or a correction or at least some sarcastic remark to cut through the tension, but your head was still back in your apartment three hours earlier with Robby standing barefoot in the kitchen in gray sweatpants and a wrinkled black t-shirt looking just as angry as you felt.

“You don’t get to decide what’s reckless for me,” you had snapped while shoving containers of untouched leftovers around in the fridge harder than necessary.

“And you don’t get to pretend you’re invincible because you’re good at your job,” he had fired back immediately. “You scared the hell out of me yesterday.”

“Oh my God, Robby, I’m a surgeon. I take risks every single day.”

“And I’m an ER attending who watched you nearly pass out after a fourteen-hour surgery because you forgot to eat again.”

You had laughed then, sharp and humorless. “You know what? I really don’t need another father.”

The second the words left your mouth, you saw it hit him. Robby had gone completely still, jaw tightening hard enough to flex beneath the stubble on his face. It should have ended there. One of you should have backed down. One of you should have apologized.

Instead he grabbed his keys from the counter and said quietly, “Fine,” before walking out of the apartment while rain hammered against the windows hard enough to shake the glass.

The elevator dinged. You blinked hard and stepped out into the hallway, immediately greeted by the familiar controlled chaos of the surgical floor waking up for the day. Nurses moved quickly between stations, monitors beeped steadily in patient rooms, and somewhere down the hall a resident was already getting torn apart by Dr. Alvarez before seven-thirty in the morning. Normal. Everything felt painfully normal while your chest still ached with unresolved anger.

“Okay, either somebody died or you and hot ER doctor finally murdered each other.”

You looked up to find Sara leaning against the nurses’ station with a chart tucked under one arm and an eyebrow raised knowingly at you. Sara had worked with you for almost four years now, which unfortunately meant she knew your moods almost as well as Robby did.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you muttered.

Sara snorted immediately. “Sweetheart, you walked past me without insulting my coffee order. That’s how I know it’s bad.”

You sighed tiredly and dropped your bag beside your office chair before rubbing both hands over your face. “We had a fight.”

“A bad one?”

“The kind where you replay it in your head in the shower and think of twelve better comebacks.”

“Oh, definitely bad then.”

Despite yourself, your mouth twitched slightly. Sara softened a little at that.

“What happened?” she asked more gently.

You hesitated because saying it out loud suddenly made it feel stupid. Small. Embarrassingly human compared to the life-and-death decisions both you and Robby made every day.

“He thinks I push myself too hard,” you admitted finally. “I think he’s being overprotective and controlling. We both said things we shouldn’t have.”

Sara made a face. “Ah. The classic ‘I love you so much I’m going to become incredibly annoying about your well-being’ fight.”

You dropped heavily into your chair. “He compared me to one of his trauma patients yesterday because I skipped meals during surgery.”

“Oof.”

“Exactly.”

“But,” Sara said carefully while setting down a stack of charts, “did you skip meals during surgery?”

You glared at her.

Sara lifted both hands immediately. “Okay, okay. Not taking sides. I enjoy living.”

You leaned back in your chair with a long exhale, staring up at the ceiling tiles. The worst part was that underneath all the anger sat the unbearable truth that Robby had not been entirely wrong. Yesterday’s surgery had been brutal. Nine hours on your feet during a complicated aortic reconstruction and by the end of it your vision had briefly blurred badly enough that one of your fellows noticed. Robby had happened to see you afterward downstairs in the ED grabbing crackers from a vending machine with shaking hands and that had apparently been the final straw for him. Still. He did not get to talk to you like you were fragile.

“You know what’s irritating?” you said quietly. “He does this thing where he gets calm when he’s angry.”

Sara barked out a laugh. “That man weaponizes disappointment like a Catholic mother.”

“Exactly.”

“And what did you do?”

You paused. “I told him I didn’t need another father.”

Sara’s expression immediately shifted into horrified sympathy. “Oh no.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, honey.”

“I know.”

The guilt hit fresh all over again because you knew about Robby’s father. You knew exactly how complicated that wound still was for him, even after all these years. You had aimed for the softest part of him because he had found yours first. That was the ugly reality of loving someone long enough to know precisely how to hurt them.

Before Sara could say anything else, one of the residents rushed toward you holding a tablet. “Dr. Y/L/N, they moved your ten o’clock up. Patient’s crashing labs just came back.”

You straightened immediately, slipping back into work mode with practiced ease even while exhaustion still dragged at your bones. “Show me.”

Sara watched quietly as your expression sharpened into focus while reviewing the chart. It always amazed people how quickly you transformed once patient care entered the equation. The warmth softened into steel. The exhaustion disappeared behind precision. It was one of the things Robby loved most about you. Which somehow made this all hurt worse.

As you stood and started walking briskly toward pre-op, Sara called after you carefully, “You know he’s probably miserable too, right?”

Your steps faltered just slightly. Because that was the problem. You knew. You knew Robby was probably downstairs right now pretending to chart while drinking terrible coffee and snapping at med students because he hadn’t slept either. You knew he was stubborn enough not to text first after a fight this bad. You knew he would still show up outside an OR instantly if someone told him you got hurt. You knew if your pager went off right now for an emergency consult in the ED, both of you would fall into step beside each other like muscle memory no matter how angry you still were. And honestly, that might have been the hardest part of all.

******

By two-thirty that afternoon, the storm outside had worsened enough that rain battered the ER ambulance bay doors in violent waves, turning the entire emergency department gray with reflected light and soaked paramedics. You had just finished dictating post-op notes from your morning surgery when your pager vibrated sharply against your hip.

ED CONSULT. TRAUMA TWO. POSSIBLE AORTIC INVOLVEMENT.

Your stomach sank immediately. Not because of the case. God knew you had handled worse. But because Trauma Two belonged to Robby today. For one brief, childish second, you considered calling one of the other attendings downstairs instead. Alvarez. Walsh. Literally anyone else. But the moment passed just as quickly because a patient with a potential thoracic aortic injury did not give a damn about your relationship problems. So you shoved your tablet under your arm, grabbed your coat, and headed toward the elevator with your jaw tight enough to ache.

The ED was chaos when you arrived. It always was during storms. The waiting room overflowed with coughing patients and soaked families while somewhere down the hall a psych patient screamed obscenities loud enough to echo off the walls. Nurses moved quickly between bays, residents clustered around computer stations trying not to drown, and over all of it sat that familiar underlying tension of emergency medicine operating three disasters away from collapse at all times. You barely made it through the ambulance bay doors before hearing Robby’s voice.

“Pressure’s dropping again. Start another unit and somebody call CT back because if they lose my scan again I’m walking upstairs and haunting radiology personally.”

The sound of him hit you physically before you even saw him. You hated that. You hated that your body still recognized him instantly even when you were furious with him. Then you turned the corner into Trauma Two and there he was.

Robby stood near the bedside in black scrubs with a trauma gown half untied around his waist, dark hair damp from either rain or sweat, beard heavier than usual after what was clearly a bad night of sleep. He looked exhausted. Irritated. Beautiful in the deeply unfair way he always managed to be while commanding a room full of terrified people.

His eyes lifted the second you walked in. The shift in his expression lasted less than a second. Surprise. Relief. Then the careful neutral mask dropped back into place so quickly you almost wondered if you imagined it.

“Cardio’s here,” one of the residents announced unnecessarily.

“Obviously,” Robby muttered without looking away from the patient monitor.

You ignored the comment and stepped toward the bed where a man in his forties lay pale and semi-conscious beneath warming blankets, bruising spreading darkly across his chest from the steering wheel impact.

“What’ve we got?” you asked professionally.

“High-speed MVC,” Robby answered flatly. “Hypotensive on arrival. Chest pain. Unequal upper extremity pressures. FAST negative.”

You reviewed the scans quickly while one of the nurses adjusted the patient’s oxygen. “CT?”

“Pending because radiology’s apparently run by raccoons.”

One of the interns choked back a laugh.

You kept your face carefully blank while flipping through images. “Has anyone started esmolol?”

Robby’s jaw flexed slightly. “Not yet. I wanted imaging confirmation before tanking his pressure further.”

You looked up finally. “If this is a dissection, waiting is dangerous.”

“And if it isn’t, dropping his pressure prematurely could destabilize him.”

The room went subtly quieter. Not silent. Nobody outright stopped moving. But nurses slowed slightly. Residents suddenly became deeply interested in charts. Everyone within earshot felt the tension immediately because this was not how the two of you usually worked together. Normally consults between you flowed almost seamlessly. You challenged each other constantly, yes, but with trust underneath it. This felt sharp. Controlled. Wrong.

You stepped toward the monitor. “His mediastinum’s widened.”

“And his systolic’s barely ninety.”

“You called me down here for a reason, Robby.”

“I called cardio because trauma protocol requires cardio.”

That landed exactly how he intended it to. Clinical. Cold. Deliberately impersonal. You stared at him for a beat too long. Robby still would not fully meet your eyes.

Fine. Fine. If that was how he wanted to play this today, you could do it too.

“Start the esmolol,” you told the nurse evenly. “Low dose. Prep OR two.”

Robby folded his arms. “I disagree.”

You looked at him sharply. “Excuse me?”

“I said I disagree. We need imaging confirmation before we move him upstairs.”

“And if he crashes while we wait?”

“And if he arrests because you overcorrected his pressure?”

The nurse holding the medication looked back and forth between both of you like she was watching her divorced parents argue at a soccer game. Normally one of you would have softened by now. Normally Robby would have pulled you aside quietly and discussed options without turning it into this bizarre territorial stand-off. But you were both angry enough to keep pushing.

“You know,” you said tightly, “not every disagreement is a personal attack.”

Something flashed hard across Robby’s face then.

“No,” he said quietly. “But apparently concern is.”

The words hit like a slap. You felt several nearby residents suddenly discover urgent reasons to leave the room. Your pulse jumped instantly because there it was. Finally. The real fight underneath the medical disagreement.

You lowered your voice dangerously. “This is not the place.”

“Then maybe stop bringing it here.”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you.”

“Doctors,” Dana interrupted carefully before either of you could escalate further, “radiology just confirmed CT’s open.”

Thank God. You looked away first, stepping back from the bedside while trying to shove your emotions somewhere deep enough not to interfere with patient care. The patient came first. Always. Even when your chest felt hot with anger and humiliation.

“Fine,” you said curtly. “Scan him. If I’m right, he goes straight upstairs.”

Robby nodded once. “Transport now.”

The team moved quickly after that, pushing the bed toward CT while monitors rattled and rain thundered outside the ambulance bay. You stayed behind long enough to finish entering preliminary surgical notes before finally realizing the room had emptied almost completely.

Except for Robby. Of course. He stood near the supply cart pretending to review labs on the computer screen, though you knew him well enough to recognize avoidance when you saw it. The silence stretched heavy between you. You should have walked out.

Instead you heard yourself say quietly, “You embarrassed me in there.”

Robby exhaled slowly through his nose before finally turning toward you. Up close he looked worse than you realized. Dark circles under his eyes. Exhaustion pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“You embarrassed me first,” he replied just as quietly.

Your throat tightened despite yourself. “I didn’t mean what I said this morning.”

His eyes flickered finally to yours then away again almost immediately. “Yeah,” he said. “Well. You still said it.”

The hurt underneath his calm voice made your anger wobble unexpectedly. Before you could answer, another trauma alert sounded overhead. Robby’s entire posture shifted instantly back into attending mode. You watched the emotional walls slam back into place in real time.

“Robby—”

“I have to work,” he said, not cruelly but not softly either. “We’ll talk later.”

Then he brushed past you toward the trauma bay doors, shoulder grazing yours for less than a second. The contact was brief. Accidental maybe. But it still sent that awful familiar warmth through your chest because even angry, even hurt, your body still knew him. And somehow that made everything worse.

******

By the time your final surgery ended, the storm outside had settled into something relentless and heavy, rain pouring down the hospital windows in silver sheets that distorted the city lights into blurred halos. You should have gone home hours ago. Every muscle in your body ached with exhaustion, your neck stiff from hours bent over an open chest cavity while trying to repair a catastrophic mitral valve rupture on a seventy-three-year-old man who coded twice on the table. The surgery itself had technically been a success, but barely. The patient remained unstable in recovery and your hands still carried that faint residual tremor of adrenaline that always came after cases where death stood close enough to breathe down your neck.

The second you stepped out of the OR, the emotional exhaustion hit harder than the physical kind. Because usually after cases like that, you found Robby. Sometimes intentionally. Sometimes accidentally. But eventually one of you always gravitated toward the other. Maybe it was coffee in an empty hallway at two in the morning. Maybe it was him standing silently in your office doorway while you dictated notes. Maybe it was you slipping into the back corner of the ED just long enough to steal five minutes beside him while trauma alarms screamed around you. The point was that after hard days, your nervous systems reached for each other automatically.

Today there was only distance. You stripped off your surgical cap slowly while walking down the hallway, exhaustion dragging at your bones hard enough to make your vision blur briefly.

A nurse passed you with a sympathetic smile. “Rough one?”

You huffed quietly. “You have no idea.”

Technically you meant the surgery. Unfortunately your brain supplied Robby’s face immediately afterward anyway. You made it halfway toward your office before abruptly changing direction. You could not sit under fluorescent lights another second. Your chest felt too tight. Your skin felt too hot. So instead you shoved open the side exit near the surgical wing and stepped beneath the small overhang outside the hospital doors.

Cold air hit your face instantly. Rain hammered against the pavement so hard it bounced back upward in misty waves, soaking the edges of your scrubs almost immediately despite the shelter overhead. Thunder rumbled somewhere far off across the city while ambulances flashed red and white against the wet parking lot below.

You leaned heavily against the brick wall near the doorway and closed your eyes. Just a minute. You only needed one minute where nobody needed anything from you. No residents asking questions. No family members begging for reassurance. No monitors alarming. No pretending you were perfectly composed while your chest quietly cracked open underneath your ribs.

Your hands shook slightly when you rubbed them over your face. The surgery should have gone smoother. You kept replaying moments in your head. The bleeding complication. The delayed rhythm recovery. The moment you genuinely thought you were going to lose him on the table. Rationally you knew the outcome was good considering the circumstances, but surgeons carried ghosts differently than other people. Every complication lived somewhere inside you afterward whether you wanted it to or not.

“You’re gonna get pneumonia standing that close to the rain.”

Your eyes opened immediately. Of course. Robby stood just inside the doorway behind you holding two paper cups of coffee, his trauma jacket thrown over his scrubs and his hair slightly flattened from humidity. He looked exhausted too. More than exhausted honestly. Drained in that particular way emergency physicians looked after fourteen straight hours of absorbing other people’s disasters. For a second neither of you spoke.

The tension between you had changed shape since earlier. It still hurt. You were still angry. But exhaustion had sanded down some of the sharpest edges.

“You stalking me now?” you asked quietly.

Robby huffed softly through his nose, stepping beside you under the overhang. “Sara said you disappeared after surgery.”

Your chest tightened unexpectedly. “You asked about me?”

“I always ask about you.”

The answer came so naturally that it hurt. Rain crashed loudly around both of you while silence settled again. You stared out at the parking lot instead of looking directly at him because eye contact felt too dangerous right now. Too intimate.

“How’d the case end?” Robby asked after a minute, his voice gentler now.

“Stable-ish.”

“That bad?”

You nodded once. “He arrested during closure.”

Robby went still beside you. Not dramatically. Most people would not have even noticed it. But you knew him too well not to recognize the immediate shift into concern.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

There it was. That stupid soft voice he used only with you. The one currently ruining your life.

You swallowed hard before answering. “I’m tired.”

Robby handed you one of the coffees without a word. Your fingers brushed briefly against his and both of you froze for the smallest fraction of a second. Even after a year together, touching him still did things to your nervous system that felt deeply unfair.

“Did you eat today?” he asked carefully.

You closed your eyes immediately. “Robby.”

“What? It’s a valid question.”

“You do realize this is part of the reason I’m still mad at you, right?”

“I know.”

You finally looked at him then. Rainlight reflected softly across his face while tiredness pulled at the corners of his eyes. God. He looked terrible. Which probably meant you did too.

“You look awful,” you muttered.

To your surprise, one corner of his mouth twitched slightly. “You always say the sweetest things to me after fights.”

A reluctant laugh escaped you before you could stop it. Tiny. Brief. But real. Robby’s expression softened instantly at the sound like his body physically could not help responding to it. That almost made you angry all over again because how dare he still look at you like that after this morning.

“You scared me yesterday,” he admitted suddenly, staring out into the rain instead of at you. “That’s what this was really about.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around the coffee cup.

“You were shaking,” he continued quietly. “You looked exhausted and dehydrated and still tried to brush it off like it was nothing. I know you’re good at what you do. I know you’re one of the best surgeons in this hospital. But sometimes it feels like you run yourself into the ground and expect everyone who loves you to just watch it happen quietly.”

The sincerity in his voice cracked something painfully open in your chest. Because underneath all the frustration sat the awful truth that Robby loved loudly. Constantly. Fiercely. Even when it came out wrong. Even when it turned into overprotectiveness or frustration or arguments in kitchens before sunrise.

You stared down into your coffee. “You don’t get to talk to me like I’m fragile.”

“I know.”

“You don’t get to make decisions for me.”

“I know.”

“You really pissed me off today.”

That finally pulled his eyes toward yours fully. “Yeah,” he said softly. “You pissed me off too.”

The honesty of it settled strangely warm between you despite everything. Rain thundered harder overhead. Somewhere nearby ambulance sirens wailed through the storm. The hospital doors opened briefly behind you as staff rushed past, but neither of you moved away from the other.

After a long silence, Robby spoke again. “You know I’m not trying to control you, right?”

You swallowed. “I know.”

“And you know I don’t think you’re weak.”

“I know that too.”

“Then why’d you say it?”

There it was. Finally. The real wound. Your chest tightened immediately because you knew exactly what he meant. Not the fight itself. Not the overworking argument. The father comment.

You looked away first. “Because I knew it would hurt you.”

Robby absorbed that quietly. No defensiveness. No anger. Somehow that made it worse.

Finally he nodded once, staring back out at the rain. “Okay.”

The softness of that nearly undid you.

“I’m still mad at you,” you whispered after a long silence.

That finally made him smile faintly. Tired. Sad. Familiar. “I know.”

“And you’re still being annoying.”

“I know that too.”

You shook your head slightly, exhausted affection threatening dangerously at the edges of your anger. Then a trauma alarm sounded faintly inside the hospital and both of your heads turned automatically toward the doors at the exact same time. Instinct. Muscle memory. Shared purpose.

Robby sighed quietly. “Duty calls.”

You nodded once. Neither of you moved immediately though. For one suspended moment in the cold rain-drenched darkness, you simply stood beside each other shoulder to shoulder beneath the hospital overhang with unresolved hurt sitting heavy between you and love sitting even heavier underneath it.

******

The blowout happened just after midnight. Which honestly made sense because nothing good ever happened in hospitals after midnight. That was the hour where exhaustion stripped everyone down to their sharpest instincts and ugliest tempers. The hour where emotions stopped wearing professional disguises. The hour where people either became unbearably tender or absolutely brutal. Tonight, apparently, you and Robby had chosen brutal.

You were halfway through updating charts in the surgical ICU when your pager went off again.

URGENT ED CONSULT. POST-MI DISSECTION. FAMILY REFUSING SURGERY.

Your stomach immediately dropped because of course it was him again. You closed your eyes briefly before grabbing your tablet and heading downstairs. The elevator ride felt suffocatingly quiet while fluorescent lights buzzed overhead and rain continued hammering the hospital windows hard enough to sound almost violent now. You had been awake for nearly twenty hours. Your patience sat somewhere near hell.

The ED looked worse than it had earlier. More crowded. More exhausted. Nurses moved with that particular drained efficiency that only happened late into disaster shifts while attendings barked orders across overcrowded bays. Somewhere a child cried inconsolably. Somewhere else somebody screamed for pain medication.

You found Robby in Trauma Four speaking quietly with an older woman while a resident hovered nearby clutching scans against his chest. The second Robby saw you enter the room, something complicated flickered briefly across his face before flattening immediately back into professionalism.

“This is Dr. Y/L/N,” he told the family calmly. “Cardiovascular surgery.”

The patient lying in the bed looked terrible. Mid-sixties. Pale. Diaphoretic. Blood pressure barely holding despite multiple drips. You reviewed the scans quickly and immediately understood the urgency. Type A dissection. Massive. Time-sensitive.

“He needs surgery now,” you said carefully to the family. “Without intervention, this becomes fatal very quickly.”

The patient’s wife looked terrified. “But he already had a heart attack this week.”

“I know,” you said gently. “But right now surgery is his best chance.”

The patient himself looked between you and Robby with exhausted fear. “What are my odds?”

You hesitated because honesty mattered. “The surgery is high-risk.”

“How high-risk?”

You glanced at the scans again. “Given the extent of the dissection and recent cardiac damage? Very.”

Robby shifted beside you. “But without surgery—”

“He dies,” you finished quietly.

The room fell heavy with silence. You watched the wife grip her husband’s hand harder while tears gathered in her eyes. This part never got easier. The medicine itself you could handle. It was the hope. The bargaining. The impossible decisions handed to terrified families at one in the morning under fluorescent lights. That was the part that hollowed people out.

Finally the patient whispered, “I don’t know if I can survive that operation.”

You crouched slightly beside the bed so he would not have to crane his neck upward at you. “I won’t lie to you. It will be hard. But if you were my family member, I would still recommend surgery.”

The wife looked at Robby then. “What would you do?”

Robby paused. And that pause changed everything. Tiny. Barely noticeable. But you saw it immediately.

“You need to understand the risks fully,” Robby said carefully. “Even getting him to the OR could destabilize him.”

Your head snapped toward him instantly. What the hell was he doing? The patient’s wife started crying harder immediately while confusion spread across the resident’s face beside you.

“Dr. Robby,” you interrupted evenly, “the dissection is actively extending.”

“I know.”

“Then we do not have time for this.”

His jaw tightened slightly. “We also don’t pressure families into decisions.”

The implication landed like gasoline on open flame.

You straightened slowly. “Excuse me?”

“I’m saying they deserve realistic expectations.”

“And I’m giving them exactly that.”

The tension in the room thickened instantly. Nurses stopped moving quite as quickly. The resident holding scans suddenly looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole.

You stared directly at Robby now. “You called me down here for surgical evaluation.”

“And I’m asking you to acknowledge the patient may not survive transport.”

“He definitely won’t survive without intervention.”

“That doesn’t mean bulldozing consent.”

Your pulse spiked instantly because there it was again. That subtle criticism buried beneath his tone. Not loud. Not openly disrespectful. Somehow worse because of how controlled he stayed while saying it.

You stepped closer to him. “If you have a problem with my recommendation, say it clearly.”

Robby’s eyes finally locked fully onto yours. Exhaustion and frustration burned there openly now. “Fine. I think you’re pushing surgery because you cannot tolerate losing.”

The words hit like a physical blow. The room went dead silent. Even the monitor alarms suddenly sounded distant beneath the roaring in your ears. You stared at him in genuine disbelief because that was not just unfair. That was cruel.

“You do not get to say that to me in front of a patient,” you said quietly. Dangerously quietly.

“And you don’t get to act like fear is irrational here.”

“Fear is not irrational. Delaying treatment is.”

The patient’s wife looked horrified now, eyes darting between both of you while the resident practically stopped breathing altogether.

Robby ran a hand tiredly over his face. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “You always do this.”

“Do what?”

“You turn every disagreement into a battlefield.”

You actually laughed then. Sharp. Disbelieving. “That is rich coming from you.”

“At least I’m not pretending my ego isn’t involved.”

Something inside your chest snapped hard enough to physically hurt.

“My ego?” you repeated softly. “You think I’m recommending surgery because of my ego?”

“I think you hate feeling helpless.”

“And I think you’re so terrified of failing people that you’d rather give up before the fight even starts.”

Robby flinched. Barely. But enough. Too far. You knew it immediately. The words hung ugly and irreversible between you while hurt flashed openly across his face for the first time all night. Because there it was. The thing underneath all of this. Robby’s worst fear. Not being enough. Not saving enough people. Carrying every death home beneath his skin until it poisoned him slowly from the inside out. Before either of you could say another word, a new voice cut sharply through the room.

“What the hell is going on in here?”

Chief of Surgery Dr. Brennan stood in the doorway looking exhausted and furious in equal measure. Apparently someone had finally called for backup before you and Robby burned the entire ED to the ground. Nobody answered immediately.

Brennan looked between both of you once before immediately understanding far more than he probably wanted to. “Outside. Now.”

You and Robby followed him into the hallway like scolded children while the entire nearby nursing staff suddenly became deeply fascinated by literally anything else.

The second the trauma room doors shut behind you, Brennan rounded on both of you. “Are you two out of your goddamn minds?”

Neither of you spoke.

“You are attendings. In front of patients. In front of residents.” He pointed between both of you sharply. “I do not care what personal nonsense is happening here. You do not pull this in my emergency department.”

Heat burned hard beneath your skin. Not embarrassment exactly. Worse. Shame.

Brennan looked at the scans in your hand. “What’s the recommendation?”

You answered immediately. “Emergency repair.”

Robby folded his arms tightly. “Transport risk is extremely high.”

“Is surgery survivable?” Brennan asked you directly.

“Possibly.”

“And without surgery?”

You and Robby answered simultaneously.

“He dies.”

Silence followed.

Brennan exhaled heavily through his nose before nodding once. “Then surgery gets offered. Fully informed consent. Family decides.” He looked at Robby. “You good with that?”

Robby’s jaw flexed hard. “Yes.”

Brennan looked at you next. “You?”

“Yes.”

“Great. Then both of you figure your shit out before I schedule mandatory couples therapy in conference room B.”

Despite everything, one of the nearby nurses snorted loudly.

Brennan pointed at both of you again before walking away muttering, “Jesus Christ. I swear to God doctors are worse than teenagers.”

Silence settled heavily after he disappeared. You and Robby stood beside each other in the hallway without speaking while rain battered the windows nearby and overhead pages echoed through the department.

Finally you whispered without looking at him, “That was low.”

Robby swallowed hard beside you. “Yeah.”

“You know exactly what surgery means to me.”

“I know.”

“You know I care about these patients.”

“I know that too.”

Your throat tightened painfully. “Then why would you say that?”

Robby closed his eyes briefly before answering. “Because I was angry.”

There it was again. The ugly truth of loving someone deeply enough to know exactly where to cut. You nodded once slowly, fighting the sudden burn behind your eyes because you absolutely refused to cry in the middle of the emergency department.

“Congratulations,” you whispered. “You got me back.”

Then you walked away before he could answer because if you stayed another second, you might have either kissed him or shattered completely. And honestly, at this point, you were not sure which outcome would be worse.

******

The rain had not stopped by the time your shift finally ended sometime after three in the morning. If anything, it had worsened, pounding against the hospital windows with relentless force while thunder rolled low across the city like distant collapsing buildings. The entire hospital felt exhausted now. Quieter. The strange hollow stillness that settled over medical centers in the dead middle of the night after too many emergencies and too little sleep.

You should have gone home immediately. Instead you sat alone in the darkened physician locker room staring numbly at your phone for nearly ten straight minutes while your damp hair clung coldly to the back of your neck. Your fight with Robby replayed over and over in vicious little loops inside your head. His face when you accused him of giving up on patients. The hurt in his voice when he admitted you had embarrassed him. The way both of you kept reaching for the worst possible thing to say because hurting each other suddenly felt easier than admitting how terrified you both were underneath it all.

You were so tired of being angry at him. That was the problem. Anger required energy and you had none left. What remained underneath it was worse. Love. Stubborn, humiliating, relentless love that refused to disappear no matter how badly the two of you wounded each other sometimes. Your phone buzzed suddenly against your thigh.

Robby: I’m in the parking garage.

That was it. No apology. No explanation. Just a statement. Your chest tightened instantly. For one brief second you considered ignoring him entirely. Making him wait. Making him hurt a little longer the way you had hurt all day. But even as the thought crossed your mind, you were already standing and reaching for your bag.

The elevator ride down to the garage felt strangely intimate in the middle of the night. Empty hallways. Dimmed lighting. Rain rattling against the concrete structure outside while exhaustion pulled heavily at your limbs. By the time the elevator doors slid open onto level three, your pulse had climbed painfully high.

You spotted his car immediately. Robby sat behind the wheel with one arm draped across the steering wheel and his head tipped back against the seat, eyes closed. Rain streaked across the windshield in silver rivers beneath the parking garage lights. He looked exhausted beyond words. Completely wrecked by the day.

Something inside your chest softened instantly against your own will. You climbed into the passenger seat without speaking. The door shut heavily behind you, cocooning both of you inside the quiet hum of rain and engine heat.

For a long moment neither of you said anything. Robby finally opened his eyes slowly and looked at you. Really looked at you. His gaze moved over your tired face, your damp hair, the dark circles beneath your eyes. There was so much emotion sitting openly in his expression now that the fight had finally burned itself down to ash.

“You look exhausted,” he said quietly.

You let out a tired laugh. “You said that this morning too.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Turns out I was right.”

Despite yourself, your mouth twitched faintly. Silence settled again, heavy and intimate inside the dim car. Outside, thunder cracked loudly enough to vibrate faintly through the vehicle.

Then Robby said quietly, “I’m sorry.”

Your breath caught slightly.

He swallowed hard before continuing. “What I said downstairs about your ego was cruel and unfair and I knew it the second it came out of my mouth.” His jaw tightened. “You fight harder for your patients than almost anyone I’ve ever met. I know that.”

You stared down at your hands because hearing him say it hurt almost worse than the argument itself.

“I wanted to hurt you back,” he admitted softly. “That’s the truth.”

The honesty of it cracked something open inside your chest.

You nodded slowly. “I know.”

Robby rubbed tiredly at his face before looking back at you again. “And you were right too.”

Your eyes lifted to his immediately.

“I hate feeling helpless,” he said quietly. “I hate watching people die when I can’t stop it. And sometimes when it comes to you…” He exhaled shakily. “Sometimes I get scared enough that it comes out wrong.”

God. There he was. Finally. No walls. No defensive sarcasm. Just Robby stripped raw and exhausted and painfully sincere.

Your throat tightened instantly. “I shouldn’t have said the thing about your father.”

“No,” he whispered. “You shouldn’t have.”

Pain flashed briefly across his face again and guilt hit you hard enough to ache physically.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered immediately. “I was angry and I wanted to wound you because you’d already gotten under my skin and I knew exactly where to aim.” Your voice shook slightly now. “I’m sorry, Robby.”

He stared at you for a long moment. Then very slowly, he reached across the center console and slid his hand against your jaw. The contact nearly undid you.

Your eyes fluttered shut immediately as his thumb brushed softly across your cheekbone. Such a gentle touch after a day spent tearing each other apart.

“I don’t know how to fight with you,” he admitted quietly. “Every time we do this, it feels like somebody’s peeling my ribs open.”

Emotion climbed hot and painful into your throat.

“You think I enjoy it?” you whispered.

Robby shook his head once, eyes locked on yours now. “No.”

The air inside the car felt unbearably charged suddenly. Heavy with exhaustion and unresolved want and relief. You had spent the entire day wanting him and being furious at him simultaneously. Every sharp glance across trauma bays. Every accidental brush of shoulders. Every moment where your body still instinctively reached for him even while your pride screamed not to.

Now there was nothing left between you except inches of space and rain hammering violently around the car.

Robby’s hand slid slowly into your damp hair at the base of your neck. “Come here,” he whispered.

That was all it took. You kissed him hard enough to make both of you gasp. The collision felt desperate immediately. Months of familiarity mixed with the rawness of the fight until neither of you seemed capable of kissing carefully anymore. Robby made a rough sound low in his throat as you grabbed fistfuls of his jacket and pulled yourself across the center console toward him.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed against your mouth. “I missed you today.”

The confession wrecked you instantly because he had been right there all day. Across hallways. Across trauma bays. Across operating rooms. And somehow you had still missed him with an ache so deep it felt physical.

You kissed him again before he could say anything else, angry and relieved and aching all at once while rain thundered against the roof overhead. Robby’s hands slid firmly along your waist, pulling you fully into his lap despite the awkward angle between the seats.

“You drove me insane today,” you muttered breathlessly against his mouth.

A faint laugh escaped him before he kissed you again harder. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“You were pretty terrifying yourself, sweetheart.”

The familiar nickname after a day without it nearly melted your spine. Your fingers curled tightly into the front of his damp t-shirt while his mouth moved hot and slow against yours now, the anger finally dissolving into something deeper and heavier and infinitely more dangerous. The kind of kissing that came from knowing each other too well. From memorizing every sigh and every weakness over a year of loving someone completely.

Robby’s forehead pressed against yours as both of you breathed hard in the dim car. His hands stayed anchored firmly at your hips like he physically needed proof you were still here.

“I love you,” he whispered suddenly. Fierce. Immediate. Like he could not hold it inside another second. “Even when you make me insane. Even when we fight like this. I love you so much it scares the hell out of me sometimes.”

Your eyes burned instantly. You kissed him again softer this time, your hand sliding against the tired stubble along his jaw.

“I love you too,” you whispered back. “Even when you’re an asshole.”

Robby huffed a quiet laugh against your lips before pulling you closer again, kissing you deep and slow while rain poured endlessly around the car and the entire exhausted city slept somewhere beyond the parking garage walls.

******

By the time you and Robby finally made it back to his apartment, the storm had settled into something almost violent. Rain lashed hard against the windows while thunder rolled low enough to shake faintly through the walls of the building. The city outside had disappeared behind sheets of gray and reflected streetlight, leaving the apartment wrapped in dim amber lamplight and exhaustion so deep it felt stitched into both of your bones.

The second the apartment door shut behind you, the silence changed. Not awkward anymore. Not angry. Just intimate in that fragile way things became after emotional devastation.

Robby dropped his keys onto the kitchen counter with a tired clatter before immediately turning back toward you like he physically could not help himself. His hands slid slowly up your arms beneath your damp coat sleeves, grounding himself in your presence. You could still feel the residual adrenaline humming beneath his skin.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

The question nearly made you laugh because the answer was obviously no. You were exhausted. Emotionally shredded. Running on caffeine and stubbornness and approximately forty minutes of sleep. But he asked anyway because this was who Robby was at his core. No matter how ugly things got between you, concern always came back first.

“I’m okay now,” you admitted softly.

His eyes searched yours for a long moment like he was checking whether you actually meant it. Then finally he nodded once and leaned down to press a slow kiss against your forehead. The tenderness of it hurt worse than the fighting had.

You exhaled shakily against his chest and suddenly became acutely aware of how disgusting you felt. Your skin still smelled faintly like antiseptic and surgical smoke. Your hair had dried into rain-damp waves around your shoulders. There was probably dried blood somewhere on your shoes.

“I need a shower,” you mumbled tiredly.

Robby’s mouth brushed softly near your temple. “Yeah,” he murmured. “You do.”

You pulled back slightly then, shrugging out of your coat while exhaustion dragged heavily at your limbs. Robby took it from you automatically before his eyes flicked downward suddenly.

“Hey.”

You blinked. “What?”

He caught your wrist gently and lifted your hand between both of you. Surgical marker still streaked darkly across your skin and fingers from the valve repair earlier. Tiny smudges of purple-black ink clung stubbornly near your knuckles and along the heel of your palm despite multiple scrubs throughout the day. You had not even noticed it was still there. Robby stared at your hand quietly for a second before something in his expression softened almost painfully.

“You’ve still got marker on you,” he said quietly.

You huffed tiredly. “Occupational hazard.”

But instead of letting go, Robby guided you silently toward the kitchen sink.

“Robby—”

“Sit.”

The gentle firmness in his voice made something warm unfurl low in your chest. Too tired to argue, you climbed onto the edge of the counter while he grabbed a washcloth and soaked it carefully beneath warm water.

The apartment felt impossibly quiet around both of you except for rain hammering against the windows and the faint hum of the kitchen lights overhead.

Robby stepped between your knees afterward and took your hand again. Neither of you spoke. He cleaned your skin slowly. Carefully. Warm water and soap worked against the stubborn surgical ink while his thumb occasionally brushed softly along your palm to steady your hand. The intimacy of it nearly destroyed you. After an entire day spent slicing each other open emotionally, here he was gently washing evidence of surgery from your skin like something sacred. Your throat tightened unexpectedly.

Robby noticed immediately because of course he did. His eyes lifted briefly toward your face. “Hey.”

You shook your head once, trying to blink back the sudden sting behind your eyes. “I’m just tired.”

“No,” he said softly. “You’re not.”

That did it. Emotion cracked through your chest so suddenly you had to look away from him entirely.

“Seeing you pull away from me today hurt worse than the actual fighting.” Your voice came out quieter than intended. Raw. “In the trauma room. Outside after Brennan stepped in. You looked at me like…”

You swallowed hard.

“Like you didn’t know how to reach me anymore.”

Robby went completely still. Then very slowly, he set the washcloth aside and moved closer until his forehead rested gently against yours.

“I was trying not to touch you,” he admitted quietly. “That’s why I looked like that.”

Your breath caught slightly.

He closed his eyes briefly. “I was so angry with you and all I could still think about was touching you.” One of his hands slid slowly along your thigh where you sat on the counter. “Do you know how insane that made me feel?”

Heat curled instantly low in your stomach. Robby opened his eyes again and looked wrecked by the honesty of it.

“You were standing there yelling at me in Trauma Four and all I could think about was the fact you hadn’t eaten enough and your hands were shaking after surgery.” He laughed softly without humor. “I hated you for about five minutes today and still wanted to take you home.”

Your pulse jumped hard at the confession.

“You didn’t hate me,” you whispered.

“No,” he admitted immediately. “I didn’t.”

The space between you disappeared again after that. Robby kissed you slowly this time, exhaustion and tenderness melting together beneath the storm outside while your fingers slid into the damp curls at the back of his neck. The kiss deepened naturally after a few breaths, all lingering heat and relief and familiar hunger that neither of you had managed to kill despite trying your absolute hardest all day.

His hands moved carefully along your waist beneath your shirt, warm palms against tired skin. You felt him exhale sharply when your legs opened instinctively around his hips, pulling him closer between them.

“Christ,” he murmured against your mouth. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

A quiet laugh escaped you. “That’s funny considering you nearly started a war in the emergency department.”

Robby groaned softly against your lips before kissing you harder. “Yeah, well. Apparently emotional regulation isn’t my strongest quality when it comes to you.”

“You think?”

He smiled faintly then, tired and devastatingly handsome at once. The kind of expression that always melted your spine because nobody else got this version of him. Nobody else got the softness underneath all the sharp edges. Your hands slid beneath the hem of his t-shirt slowly, palms moving against warm skin and the tension in his back muscles. Robby’s breathing immediately roughened.

“You’re exhausted,” he whispered even while pulling you closer.

“So are you.”

“Yeah.” His mouth brushed your jaw slowly. “Still want you anyway.”

The honesty of it sent heat spiraling through your chest. You kissed him again deeply, fingers curling against his shoulders while thunder cracked loudly outside the apartment windows. Robby made a low sound against your mouth before lifting you carefully off the counter like it was instinct by now. Your legs wrapped automatically around his waist while he carried you down the hallway toward the bedroom with one hand secure beneath your thighs and the other pressed firmly against your back.

The room stayed dim except for stormlight filtering weakly through the curtains. Clothes ended up abandoned carelessly across the floor somewhere between kisses and exhausted laughter and soft apologies murmured against skin. Nothing rushed. Nothing frantic anymore. Just two people who had scared each other badly enough to suddenly need reassurance in every touch.

Later, long after the storm should have lulled you both to sleep, you lay tangled together beneath the blankets with your head resting against Robby’s chest while rain continued tapping softly against the windows. His fingers moved lazily through your hair while your leg remained thrown over his waist like you were unconsciously trying to anchor him there beside you.

“I really thought I fucked this up today,” he admitted quietly into the darkness.

You tilted your head slightly against him. “What do you mean?”

Robby hesitated. “After Brennan pulled us apart.” His hand tightened faintly against your back. “You looked at me like you were done.”

Your chest ached immediately.

“I could never be done with you,” you whispered.

He exhaled shakily against your forehead like the words physically relieved something inside him.

“I hated that we spent all day apart while standing ten feet from each other,” you admitted softly. “It felt awful.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “It did.”

Silence settled comfortably after that. Warm. Heavy. Safe again.

Then after a minute, Robby’s lips brushed softly against your hair. “Still think I’m overprotective?”

You smiled tiredly against his chest. “Still think I’m impossible?”

His quiet laugh vibrated beneath your cheek before his arms tightened around you completely.

“Yes,” he whispered. “But I love you.”

******

You woke sometime near dawn to the sound of rain still tapping softly against the bedroom windows and the steady warmth of Robby asleep beneath you. For one disorienting second, you forgot everything. The fight. The emergency department. Brennan practically threatening to lock you both in separate corners of the hospital. Then memory returned slowly in pieces while pale gray morning light filtered through the curtains.

Robby slept on his back beside you with one arm still wrapped securely around your waist like even unconscious he refused to let you drift too far away. His hair was a mess against the pillow, his face softened completely by sleep in a way almost nobody else ever got to see. Without the constant sharpness of the ER weighing him down, he looked younger somehow. More vulnerable.

Your chest tightened painfully. Because the father comment had stayed with you all night no matter how many times he kissed you afterward. No matter how many apologies had already passed between you. That one still sat ugly and unresolved beneath your ribs.

Carefully, trying not to wake him immediately, you shifted upward against him until your cheek rested over his bare chest. His heartbeat thumped steadily beneath your ear. Warm. Familiar. Safe. God. You loved this man so much it scared you sometimes.

Your fingers drifted slowly across the light scattering of chest hair beneath your cheek before your mouth followed instinctively, pressing soft sleepy kisses against warm skin. One near his sternum. Another just beneath his collarbone. Robby stirred faintly beneath you with a low sleepy sound in his throat.

You smiled softly against his skin and kissed him again slower this time. His hand slid automatically along your back without even opening his eyes yet.

“Mm,” he murmured roughly, voice thick with sleep. “This a dream?”

A quiet laugh escaped you. “Depends.”

One brown eye blinked open slowly before the other followed. The second he focused on you stretched half on top of him, something warm and wrecked crossed his face immediately.

“Hey,” he whispered.

“Hey.”

His hand moved lazily along your spine beneath the oversized t-shirt you had stolen from him sometime during the night.

“What time is it?”

“No idea.”

“Good.” His eyes drifted shut again briefly while his palm settled low against your back. “Then we’re not doctors right now.”

The sleepy sincerity of that almost broke your heart. You shifted higher against him until your thighs settled carefully on either side of his hips beneath the blankets. Robby’s eyes opened fully then, attention sharpening slightly as he looked up at you straddling him in the soft gray light. His hands slid instinctively to your hips.

There it was again. That immediate response to each other. Even exhausted. Even emotionally bruised from yesterday. Your fingers brushed gently through the hair near his temple before you leaned down to kiss his collarbone slowly. Then again.

Robby exhaled quietly beneath you, fingertips tightening faintly against your hips. “You’re being very sweet for somebody who verbally assaulted me in Trauma Four.”

You groaned softly against his skin. “Don’t joke yet. I’m trying to be emotional.”

A sleepy smile tugged at his mouth. “Sorry. Continue.”

You lifted your head enough to look at him fully then and immediately the humor softened out of both of you.

“I’m really sorry,” you whispered.

Robby’s expression gentled instantly because he knew exactly what apology this was. Your hands slid slowly across his chest while you swallowed hard.

“What I said about your father…” Your voice wavered slightly. “That was cruel. I knew exactly what it would do to you and I said it anyway because I was angry.”

Robby stayed quiet beneath you, listening carefully. Tears burned unexpectedly behind your eyes and you hated how quickly they arrived because exhaustion always stripped your emotions raw.

“You are nothing like him,” you whispered fiercely. “Nothing. You love too loudly to ever be anything like him.”

Something in Robby’s face cracked open at that.

Your fingers curled softly against his chest. “You take care of people. You stay. You show up every single day for everyone you love even when it destroys you sometimes.” Your voice dropped smaller. “And I used the worst thing I could think of against you because I wanted to hurt you back.”

Robby’s hands tightened more firmly around your hips then, grounding both of you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

The endearment nearly undid him visibly. You bent slowly to kiss his chest again, lingering near his heartbeat while your hips shifted unconsciously against his beneath the blankets. Robby inhaled sharply at the movement, his fingers flexing hard against your waist.

“Jesus,” he murmured roughly.

But your focus stayed on him. On the apology. On the vulnerability of this moment.

You kissed slowly up the center of his chest toward his throat before whispering against his skin, “I love you so much.”

Robby’s eyes shut briefly like the words physically hit him.

“I know we fight hard,” you continued softly. “But I never want you questioning whether you’re loved by me. Ever.”

That finally did it. Robby sat up suddenly enough to make you gasp softly as his arms wrapped tightly around your waist. One hand slid into your hair while the other anchored firmly at your lower back, holding you against him like he physically needed the closeness.

“You’re killing me,” he whispered against your mouth before kissing you hard.

The kiss turned heated almost immediately. Not frantic like the parking garage. Something deeper now. Slower. Intimate in a way that came from emotional honesty instead of adrenaline. Robby kissed you like he was still trying to absorb every apology and every confession straight from your lungs.

Your hips rocked instinctively against his again and the rough sound he made into your mouth sent heat spiraling low through your stomach. His hands gripped your hips harder now, guiding the movement once before his forehead dropped briefly against yours.

“You have got to stop doing that if you want me to think coherent thoughts,” he muttered hoarsely.

A sleepy laugh escaped you before you kissed him again. “No.”

“Cruel woman.”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

You smiled against his mouth right before Robby suddenly shifted beneath you. In one smooth motion he rolled you onto your back against the mattress, his body settling heavily between your thighs while the blankets tangled around both of you. Your breath caught instantly.

Robby hovered above you with messy curls and sleepy eyes and bare skin still warm from sleep. He looked devastating like this. Completely unguarded. One of his hands slid slowly along your thigh beneath the oversized t-shirt while his mouth moved against your jaw.

“You know what the worst part about yesterday was?” he murmured against your skin.

Your fingers slid into his curls automatically. “What?”

“I couldn’t touch you.”

The raw honesty in his voice sent another wave of heat through you.

Robby kissed slowly down your throat. “You were standing five feet away from me all day and I kept thinking about this.” His hand tightened gently against your hip. “About getting you alone. About hearing you laugh again. About you looking at me like you are right now instead of like you wanted to kill me.”

A quiet sound escaped you as his mouth brushed your collarbone. Robby looked back up at you then, blue eyes softer now beneath all the heat.

“I love you too,” he whispered. “Even when we’re terrible at this sometimes.”

Your hands framed his face immediately. “We’re not terrible at it.”

“No?”

You shook your head gently. “We just care too much.”

Something unbearably tender crossed his expression before he kissed you again slow and deep while rain continued falling softly outside and dawn crept gradually across the room around both of you.

[the-shedevil-writes]

Stomach Hickeys (Dr. Robby x Reader)

DESCRIPTION: You've been bloated for the past week and have been hiding under baggy shirts. So your boyfriend, Robby, decides to prove how hot he finds you to be. WORD COUNT: 2.8k WARNINGS: Smut! Fingering. Established relationship. Praise kink. Robby talks you through it. Self-esteem. Lower belly pooch. Biting and marking. PMS/Period mentioned NOTES: Uh so... this was living in my mind the past week so I had to write it... I want a pajama set and for Robby to do this to me <3 READ ON AO3 - MASTERLIST

Robby always made sure his girlfriend felt loved. There was no doubt about that. In the dark moments, he could be cranky or snippy, but with her, he always bit his tongue before it went too far. He restrained himself. And it was a little easier when his time spent with her was almost always outside of the stressful confines of work. She was his relief. Coming home to her was the best part of his day. Especially when he’d come home to some sort of candle lit, a simple meal or takeout made, and the sight of her in little pajamas. The little matching shorts and tops drove him crazy. In fact, he’d bought most of her pairs. 

It started a few months ago when she told him how she spent the whole day at the mall on the hunt for a matching pajama set, only to be met with 50+ dollar prices. Sure, he thought it was a bit strange for pajamas to be that expensive, but he went out and surprised her with a pair a few days later. A faded blue gingham top and little matching bloomers. She had gasped so loudly when she saw them, and he had nearly passed out when she put them on. Hence, the beginning of her little collection. 

For the past week, though, she’d been wearing baggy shirts instead. He didn’t even notice at first. He was much too busy being absolutely enamored with the sight of her wearing his old work shirt. It draped over her figure like a nightgown. He dropped his duffel, almost over dramatically, and sauntered up behind her as she was putting pasta in a pot.

“Oh, hello there.” She smiled

“Hi.” He murmured as his hands wrapped around her waist and he tucked his nose into her neck, “Hm… nice shirt. Wonder who you took it from.”

His hands went down to squeeze her panty-covered ass cheeks that peeked out under the shirt. She blushed and smiled.

“Just some guy.”

He chuckled gruffly and put his forehead to her shoulder.

“Just some guy?”

“Yeah. He’s alright.” She joked

He let his hands run up and down, letting the fabric hike up for sneak peeks. He looked down, admiring the view.

“He’s got good taste.”

She giggled. “Well, I was thinking that I could keep it on tonight when we…”

A devilish smile appeared on his face. His crow's feet bunched up by his eyes, making his excitement apparent. He nodded happily.

“Oh, I’m very happy this shirt is really mine then.” He mumbled, making her laugh as he broke the little game they had going on. 

“It’ll have to wait till after dinner, though.”

He very lightly bit her shoulder, his canines barely pressing into the skin. But the scrape sent a shock up her spine. 

“You’re evil.” He kissed her shoulder and walked away, “I’ll shower, then we can eat… then I can eat.”

“Robby!”

It was a few days later. On one of Robby’s few off days, they spent the whole day out together. Usually, he liked to relax, sleep in all day, and take naps with her lying on top of him. But he wanted to treat his girl. So they went out shopping for a bit. For some reason, though, she didn’t seem as interested in the clothing stores as she normally would. They got lunch at a burger place and walked around the park. Then, after shopping some more, they ate dinner at her favorite soup place. Overall, an amazing day. Any day he got to see her smile was a day well spent in Robby’s book. 

Once back home, she practically bolted into their bedroom before he could even shut the door behind him. His brows furrowed a bit, but maybe she was just excited to get into comfier clothes. 

She came back out in a baggy T-shirt of her own and gym shorts. He smiled and walked over to her.

“Well, don’t you look comfy.” He leaned down to kiss her. 

She kissed back, but there was a tentativeness. He didn’t notice too much at first, so he tried to deepen the kiss. Her eyes closed, trying to relax. But when his hands reached her waist, her breath hitched. 

She stepped back. “Wanna put on a movie?”

His brows raised. Oh! Well! That wasn’t exactly what he was thinking. But he wasn’t about to reject the idea.

“Is that what you wanna do, honey?”

She nodded, “Yeah.” 

“Okay then.” He kissed her again, this time a peck, “Pick out a movie. I’m gonna change too.” 

Robby was a bit restless throughout the movie, but this wasn’t too abnormal. He was more of a reader than a movie-lover. So while she lay on top of him, cheek to his chest to watch the TV, he started to run his hands up and down her leg. Giving gentle massages and a head kiss every now and then. His hands started to travel higher. When he squeezed her ass, she let out a little noise that made him feel satisfied.

But then she reached down and held his hand, passively stopping him. His brows furrowed. This wasn’t usual behavior. And if she wasn’t in the mood, he wished she’d just outright say it. Which was why he decided to clear his throat, 

“You feeling okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, why?” She didn’t take her eyes off the screen.

“You’ve been a little distant.”

She laughed and put her chin on his chest so they were face-to-face.

“I feel like we’re not very far from each other.”

“Well, yeah. But I’m trying to… I don’t know, heat things up? And usually you can’t get enough. Usually, you’re tiring me out.” 

It’d sound like an insult if it weren’t so completely true. She sat up a little.

“That’s just cause you’re my old man.”

He shook his head with a knowing look in his eyes.

“I don’t think that’s it.” He reached over and paused the TV. He patted her thigh as he sat up now. She straddled his lap, and it would’ve been much hotter if he hadn’t been so concerned. “You just not in the mood tonight? I should clarify that it’s totally okay if you aren’t-”

“It’s not that, necessarily.” She said softly

His head tilted, and his eyes softened. He ran his hand up and down her thigh. It didn’t feel sexual. More so, gentle. Coaxing. 

“Okay… But there’s a that. Wanna tell me what’s going on?”

She looked away and crossed her arms over herself. The fabric of the big T-shirt bunched up around her ribs. 

“I’m just… super bloated. And I have been for the past week or so. Then we had soup for dinner, so my stomach is just huge, and I don’t…” She started to unravel, “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

He couldn’t help but let out a little laugh of disbelief.

“See you like what? Like a human being?” He squeezed her thighs, “Like a woman? It’s the end of the month for you, so bloating is totally normal.”

Her bottom lip jutted out, and her eyes started to get watery. Yup. She was definitely experiencing some PMS. But Robby wasn’t allowed to point that out. She sniffled.

“I just look gross, and I don’t want you to see.”

Robby raised a brow, “Have you… seen me? I don’t exactly have chiseled abs, sweetheart. And last I remember, that’s something you like about me.”

She nodded. That was also true. She loved being with Robby because being with a skinny or muscular guy never felt comfortable. Robby was healthy and just the perfect amount of cushion for her to lie on. 

He squeezed her thigh. 

“I think you are beautiful all month long. And honestly, I wouldn’t even notice if you hadn’t told me. I’m much too preoccupied with how lucky I am to have the most beautiful woman in my bed.” He whispered.

“Yeah?”

He nodded, “Yeah, baby.”

He reached up and cupped one side of her face, letting his fingers intwine with her hair.

“Look, if you really don’t wanna do anything tonight, we can just watch this movie and go to sleep. I’m sure the bloating isn’t exactly comfy. But… I’m always on the table for having some more fun.”

She giggled and tucked her chin to her chest. Her face turned bright red. He couldn’t help the smile that grew on his face at that. 

Reaching his index finger under her chin, he pulled her face up to look at him. “There she is.” 

She leaned down and kissed him, and he sighed an enormous sigh of relief. It was as if he had been waiting for eternity. This time, she kissed him deeply, no longer holding back. 

He sat up straighter and wrapped his arms around her waist so he could move her back. A little whine escaped her as he lay her back down on the couch. He gave gentle shushes before kissing her again. 

“I know. I know.” He murmured, knowing that she ached for the direct contact against her core again now that he was on top. But he wanted to take care of her rather than the other way around. He brought her legs up to wrap around his waist and leaned down to kiss her some more. Working his way down from her lips to her chin to her neck, he relished in the little noises she made. 

Her eyes grew hazy and relaxed as he kissed and sucked at the sweet spots of her neck. He moved one hand under her shirt, not going too far, just lazily tracing her skin. Once he got to kissing her collarbone, he had to use his other hand to tug at the collar of her shirt.

“Can I take this off?” He asked.

She looked up at him with nervous eyes as he traced his fingers along her sides. 

“I’m warning you, I look gross.” 

“I heed your warning, but you should also know that I love every fucking inch of you.” 

With a breathy exhale, she started to take her shirt off. Robby eagerly helped. And when he looked down and saw her topless, he sat up a little just to admire her. He scrubbed at his beard, pupils completely dilated. 

She looked gorgeous. He didn’t even understand what she was talking about. Maybe she looked a little fuller in her lower belly, but in all complete honesty, Robby found it completely hot. He felt himself harden immediately. 

“Jesus… Christ.” 

Her breathing started to quicken. “Good ‘Jesus Christ’ or bad ‘Jesus Christ’?”

“I’m gonna come in my pants like a fucking teenager ‘Jesus Christ’.”

“ROBBY!” She laughed.

He attacked her breasts with his mouth. His other hands desperately thumbing down her gym shorts. Her underwear naturally came with it. He sat back up just to pull them off and fling them over his shoulder. 

She gasped as one hand landed between her legs, feeling the slick built up. He grinned against her chest. 

“Mm. You almost pushed me away when you needed me this badly? Poor baby.”

He started spreading her wetness up so he could play with her clit while kissing at her chest and neck. The sounds that came out of her were raw and surprised. He was like a man possessed. 

“I think-” He spoke between kissing her, “I think you might be the hottest woman I’ve ever met. Fuckin’ look at you.”

Her eyes rolled back as his fingers started to work lower. 

He just kept talking, “Yeah? Yeah…” He slipped two fingers in with a squelch, “There we go.”

Her jaw dropped. Her whole body shook as she felt the intrusion. It was always a bit of a stretch, but not as big a stretch as his cock. She let out a strangled whimper. 

“You’re- you’re talkative today.” She tried to act as if she wasn’t seeing blinding white behind her eyes; his fingers moving in and out.

He kissed the spot underneath her ear that made her all sensitive, “Realized that my pretty girl needed to hear how fucking beautiful she is tonight. Maybe she’ll learn this time.”

At that, he curled his fingers with the precision only a surgeon could have. She gasped and let out a moan. He chuckled and moved down the couch so his head leaned against her inner thigh. He looked up at her as if he were looking up at the ceiling in prayer. The sight before him of her writhing, shaking, and whimpering against the couch had him impossibly hard. 

“Yeah? Right there?” He asked as he pressed his fingers up again. 

“Ah- fuck!” 

“Mmhm. Riiight there.” He kissed at her inner thigh and moved up to plant some kisses on that lower belly he was now obsessed with. 

Her eyes shot open with a choked sound. She almost wanted to protest the attention on her stomach, but she felt too blissed out to do so. Instead, she just let out little ‘ah’s, especially since… they were both discovering that this was a sensitive area. He kissed and sucked at the side of her stomach, and he felt her clench around his fingers. 

“You’re so fucking pretty.” His voice rasped. 

She clawed for anything to hold onto. The back of the couch, the side of it, the throw pillow that was falling off. She was so lost in pleasure and couldn’t ground herself. He gently bit at her inner thigh, waking her up a little.

“Breathe.” He reminded.

Oh yeah. That was probably a good idea. She whined, not intentionally protesting, but he chuckled. 

“Feeling good?”

As if the wet noises that echoed in the living room weren’t proof enough, she nodded and choked out a-

“Feels so good, Robby.”

“Good.” He gruffed out.

When her whining started to grow more and more desperate, he knew what he had to do. He brought his other hand to start rubbing up and down at her clit. She gasped, and he chuckled at the feeling of more wetness gushing around his fingers. 

He kept his lips at her lower stomach, covering it in bruises and hickeys. Dr. Michael Robinavitch was not above marking his partner. And of course, he wanted to leave a constellation of purple and red under her belly button. She was so soft and pliable. His eyes rolled back as if he were experiencing just as much pleasure. More than anything, it was immensely satisfying to hear her moans get louder. Her thighs started to shake, and he smirked.

“Are you close, pretty girl?”

She nodded desperately. But he lightened up the pressure on her clit, making her eyes open and a long whimper come out. He raised his brows and tsked.

“Need words, sweetheart.”

“I’m close! I’m so- fuck!” She babbled desperately.

As he pumped his fingers and rubbed at her sensitive bud, he could feel her muscles starting to contract more and more. He looked up and made eye contact with her. Her eyes were wide with slanted brows. She was completely slack-jawed. He applied just the slightest bit of pressure, making sure to keep his rhythm consistently punishing. 

“C’mon. Show me how pretty you look when you come.” 

“AH! FUCK!” She squealed as her back arched. 

With that, she gushed around his fingers. He chuckled proudly, keeping his fingers going to draw out every last drop. She clawed at the sheets as her muscles convulsed around his fingers. He kissed all over her lower belly, as if he could pavlov dog her into associating it with a good thing. 

“Good job, sweetheart. There we go.” He encouraged. 

Her body kept contracting until she reached down and grabbed his wrist. He took his signal to pull his fingers out and suck them clean. He’d overstimulate her another day. Now was the time for comfort.

Moving up to kiss her mouth, he placed his palm on her lower stomach, feeling the muscles twitch underneath. He gently rubbed it in soothing circles.

“Still think I find you gross?” 

She looked down at her hickey covered stomach. Panting, she languidly shook her head. He grinned triumphantly and leaned down to kiss her. 

“Good.” He murmured against her lips, “I’d like to give you some more evidence.”

He started untying the drawstrings of his sweatpants, and she knew she was in for a long night. A long night where Robby proved her wrong about her self-image again and again and again. 

The next day, Robby came home from a long shift to find her back in a little pajama set. A light blue one that clung to her silhouette. He immediately dusted his hands off, ready to show her how much he appreciated it. 

[hauntedinkk]

hundred dollar bill (the road trip) ~ j.m

tags: 18+ (sexual content), dbf joel!miller x afab!reader, road trip, age gap (46/22) I came up with this idea while listening to hundred dollar bill by Lana del Rey, Sarah is 19 in this, readers fathers name is mark (idk i was just trying to think of a basic name lmao), one use of y/n, lake house vacation, Joel is guilt ridden, “we can’t do this” vibes, readers mother is not mentioned, reader is mentioned wearing denim shorts and a gingham shirt but her looks is not physically described, situationship, groping, blowjob, spit, handjob, clit stimululation and cum eating.

summary: you and your dad’s bestfriend have been fooling around for months now and after weeks of joel pushing you away, trying to be the responsible one, a road trip and shared car makes things hard to resist.

3.5k

Joel doesn’t know how he had gotten himself into this particular situation with you.

He’d watched you grow up, had you and your family over for cookouts, spent Christmas’s with you, hosted sleepovers for you and Sarah. You and your father were like a found family for him.

And he could relate to your father, y’know? Being a single parent with a daughter. That was why they’d clicked so well when Joel moved into your neighbourhood with a baby Sarah — twenty seven years old and completely unprepared for raising a baby by himself.

But now? Now you were an adult — twenty-two years old at that. And he’d never thought about you in a sexual way before. Never perved on you or even viewed you in any other way than being Sarah’s childhood best friend and his buddies daughter. The girl he’d offer a ride to here and there when her dad wasn’t home, who he’d walk back the few doors down to her own home in the neighbourhood after one too many with Sarah — despite being furious with Sarah for even thinking about drinking underage.

But that changed the night you’d made a move on him while tipsy.

Your father had asked him to pick you up from a bar after getting delayed in traffic coming home from visiting your grandparents. One thing led to another when you stumbled into the car, giggly and glassy eyed, and you kissed him.

And there was just something about that kiss.

Maybe it was just him being completely touch starved for the past six months — going through quite the dry spell in the bedroom department — but he’d kissed you back. Your hand eventually found his cock, palming him through his jeans and it was then in that moment that any responsibility eddied from his brain.

He’d taken you right then and there. In his lap, in his car, in the parking lot of that fucking bar.

And that one time thing? It became sneaking into his house at night, quickies in the bathroom of whatever neighbourhood event you were at, copping a feel in the new hot tub your Dad installed in your backyard.

And he felt fucking awful for it. Disgusting. Perverted and filthy. So he’d kept his distance from you. He’d linger around your father or Tommy at events, he’d make excuses about how you couldn’t come over during the night.

He did everything he could to avoid seeing you. Not because he didn’t like you, not because he didn’t want you, but because he knew that if he was around you, he wouldn’t be able to deny what you needed from him.

And that terrified him.

The sweltering heat of the Texan sun burned down onto your skin, the denim shorts and gingham shirt you were wearing showing off enough skin that the temperature was just about bearable.

You assisted Sarah in dragging her insanely heavy suitcase out into the front yard of Joel’s home. Your dad had brought the car around to Joel’s place to make things easier when it came to lugging bags into the cars.

Your aunt Kelly was tagging along this year to the anual lake house trip with Joel and Sarah. Normally, it was just you and your dad from your family, but this year, after your aunts divorce, she insisted on needing to get the hell away from that damn house, considering her Ex Husband still hadn’t gathered enough money to move out and the sound of his snoring — even from the guest bedroom — was as insufferable as it had been when they were married.

Which then meant that Tommy — Joel’s younger brother — suspiciously opted to come along too after consistently refusing to for the past month. Tommy had actually known your aunt previous to Joel meeting your father, from highschool. And ever since Joel became friends with your dad, Tommy used that as his excuse to try and sway your aunt in his direction. Shameless flirt.

So it was made clear last night that Tommy would be riding in your car with your Dad and Kelly, therefore meaning you would have to suffer through a whole two hours of listening to Tommy sweet talk and Kelly pretending not to notice or care.

“Jesus, what did you pack in this thing? We’re going for a week, Sarah. Not a year.” You huff, dragging the handle of the case while she pushed it along with her foot. Of course, she’d had to choose to pack her shit in a suitcase without wheels on the bottom.

Sarah laughs breathlessly, kicking the luggage rather harshly for emphasis, nearly sending you toppling over. “Girl, this is only the second case. Wait until you feel the weight of the third.” She grins.

You groan, dropping the handle and laying your hands on your knees. Jesus, you needed to build up your strength. But you couldn’t help the laugh that spilled out of you from the complete ridiculousness of the situation.

Just as you and Sarah start pull yourselves together, a strong hand comes down on your waist, gently straightening you and moving you out of the way. “Give me that, baby girl,” Joel says to Sarah, the sound of his voice making your toes curl beneath your sneakers. You’d heard him call you that nickname multiple times by now.

You step out of the older man’s way, allowing yourself to subtly take in the sight of him in front of you. He was wearing a pair of dark navy jeans, the ones he was clad in quite frequently, and a simple denim shirt, rolled up to his forearms to accommodate the warm weather.

Really and truly, with the things you and Joel had been getting up to recently, going on the lake house trip for a week, sleeping in the same house, your room just a door down from his, was not convenient in the slightest.

Joel had been keeping his distance from you, and as much as he tried to act as if it was down to being busy, or responsible, you knew he was just guilt ridden about the whole situation.

You knew he felt bad. Shit, so did you. But it wasn’t like what you were doing was necessarily wrong. Yeah, maybe it was a little unconventional, but you were both two adults who could make their own decisions.

You watched as Sarah gave her dad a grateful smile as he bent over and hauled the suitcase off the ground with a grunt, walking over toward his car to load it into the trunk.

But Sarah’s voice cut him off.

“Can you actually put it in Mark’s car? Tommy’s going with him and Kelly and I really wanna watch the show. Plus, I’d be doing y/n a favour.” Sarah turned to you, a playful smile on her face, completely oblivious to the shit going on between her childhood bestfriend and her father. “You don’t mind going with Dad, do you?”

You saw Joel’s back stiffen as he paused at the trunk of his own car, before quickly pulling himself together and picking up the case to take it to your father’s open trunk. You felt yourself freeze for a moment before clearing your throat with a playful grin of your own, turning towards Joel. “Of course I don’t.

“Put your seatbelt on, m’not gonna tell you again.” Joel orders, one hand on the wheel while the other reaches over to grab your belt, waiting for you to take it off him. His eyes remained fixed on the road, but you could feel how tense he was with having to make contact with your body.

You were only ten minutes into the drive to the lake house and you’d already succeeded on getting on Joel’s last nerve. First, it was you insisting on playing One Direction full blast on the radio, then it was the continuous bubbles you were blowing, forcing him to roll down the window and practically beg you to throw out your gum, and now it was this.

You knew that the constant reprimands were just his own way of keeping from any awkward silences, not that you would let there be any. You were quite content to yap his little ear off the entire ride, push his buttons until he finally decided to give in.

You huff, straightening in your seat and shoving the belt into the buckle. “I was just taking it off to tie my shoe. Relax, Dad.” You say with a grin, knowing just how wrong that nickname would sound considering what the two of you had done together.

“Please, don’t call me that. Just.. fuck. Just sit still, would ya? All this goddamn fidgeting is gettin’ on my nerves, kid.” He grits, his gaze still unfaltering from the road ahead.

“Hmm, sure it does,” you croon, picking up the can of Cherry Coke to your lips and taking a long sip, exhaling dramatically at the taste. You cross your leg casually over the other, keeping your eyes ahead. “Y’know, with the way you’ve been acting toward me recently, some would call that avoiding.” You say condescendingly.

Joel sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as if a headache had formed there. Yet, not that he’d show it, he felt a pang of guilt hit him in the chest for how he’d been acting. You didn’t sound particularly upset, if anything, your voice was light, teasing.

“Things have just been.. busy.” The lie was smooth, he thought. But the tone in which he said it in was slightly warning. Don’t push it.

You seemed to get the message and hummed thoughtfully. But then, a dramatic gasp left your lips, one that if he didn’t know better, sounded rehearsed.

You may or may not have purposely spilled a bit of the Pepsi down your shirt. You were sly like that. You’d spotted a dark grey t-shirt tossed on the back seat behind you, and a dirty, slightly cheesy, little plan had formed in your head. One that would hopefully make Joel crack.

“Fuck!” You exclaim, setting your drink into the cup holder and beginning to rub at the wet, dark patch of your red, gingham shirt. Joel turned his head, temporarily removing his eyes from the road at the sudden outburst and recognised the issue. You moan in irritation, peeling the fabric forward so the spillage didn’t seep through onto your skin. “This is gonna stain.”

“Jesus,” Joel mutters under his breath, focusing his attention back onto driving.

You glare sidelong at him. “Shut up, Joel. I really like this shirt.” You frown, looking down at the brown stain already appearing. “Do you have a spare shirt I can change into? I don’t really wanna have to get out.” You ask conveniently.

Joel freezes for a second, the thought of you in his shirt.. fuck. He’d seen you in them countless times now. He almost always allowed you to wear them after one of your little sessions together. But slowly he turns back to you, clearing his throat to attempt to act natural. “Should be one in the backseat.” He nods behind the two of you.

Bingo.

You immediately twist in your seat and remove your seatbelt again, leaning into the back to grab the shirt and reaching down to slowly lift your top up. Joel stops you with a hand on top of yours.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he blurts as you turn to him in confusion. “Shouldn’t you wait until I find somewhere to pull over? Or.. I don’t know, do it in the back?” He suggests awkwardly, glancing between you and the road.

You tilt your head to the side, a “are you kidding me?” expression on your face. You pick up his large hand and set it back onto his lap, resuming your movements and beginning to tug the top up, until it exposed your stomach. “Oh, come on. It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before. And I’m literally just taking off my shirt.”

True. He couldn’t argue with that. So he didn’t. He just swallows thickly and tried to keep his eyes on the road. Tried to think of anything other than you removing your shirt, exposing your white.. fuck… your white, lacy bra. He could see it from the corner of his eye, he wondered if that white lace matched whatever your were wearing downst —

No. He couldn’t think like that. And fuck, now he was getting hard.

Not right now, he begged his cock internally. It would be a matter of seconds until you had that t-shirt on. Until you would turn to him and see a tent beginning to grow in his pants. Jesus, he felt pathetic. Like a fucking teenager unable to control himself.

He was so ashamed. Of how far he’d let this go between the two of you. He should’ve been the bigger person, should’ve told you that he —

“Are you hard?”

Your voice cuts through his thoughts, making him snap his head toward you, his cheeks already reddening. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, unable to reach down and adjust himself in his pants without seeming too obvious. You were now dressed in his shirt, the fabric loose around your arms.

Your mouth was twisted in a shit-eating grin and he already knew that he was done for.

“Just.. stop.” He mutters, clenching his jaw enough to hurt. He forces his eyes away from you, praying that the ground would just come and swallow him up. How was he even supposed to respond to this? Get himself out of it?

“Oh my god, you are,” you giggle, twisting in your seat to face him and propping your feet up onto your seat. “Fuck, Joel.” You say, your voice dropping an octave.

The sound of your tone getting quieter, a little more intimate, had him throbbing in his pants. He’s heard this tone of voice more than once by now. The sound of your moans and soft, sweet whimpers and pleas when he fucked you started to float around his head. The way you’d babble, trying to keep that menacing, teasing demeanour but failing miserably every single time.

“Was a nice little trick ya did there.” he gritted, and you could have swore the car picked up the speed. Not enough to be dangerous, but to show just how you were affecting him.

You turned your head to the side, your smile only growing. “Mhm? It worked, didn’t it?”

He didn’t respond to that particular question, just took a deep breath and adjusted in his seat once again, bringing a hand that wasn’t on the wheel to run through his slightly greying hair. “We cant do this.” He said firmly, but it seemed like it took everything within him to.

You bit down on your lip, slowly, ever so slowly, bringing your hand down onto his lap. Your trail your finger tips in a circle on his inner thigh. Testing. Teasing. “Can’t do what?” You ask innocently, as your hand finally lands on the spot between his legs. Palming his cock through his jeans. That thick, heavy, beautiful cock.

You manoeuvred yourself on the seat until you were sitting on your knees, and then, you leaned across the centre panel, until you were eye level with his lap, resting your cheek there as you slowly began to undo his belt.

Joel moans softly, uncontrollably. He couldn’t stop the sound from coming out when you worked on his belt with record time, tossing it aside and starting on his buttons. “This. It’s not — fuck.”

And then his cock was out of jeans and in your hand. His tip was flushed a shade darker than usual, beading with a pearl of pre-cum. “It’s wrong.” He finished with a sigh, both hands now gripping the wheel hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

You held back the urge to smile when you dipped your tongue out and lapped up the pre-jack there, humming at the salty flavour. “Why is it wrong?” You question him again, your voice oozing with false innocence. You ran your thumb along his shaft, looking up at him and waiting for an answer.

“You know why. Stop playing games.” He grits, his face pleading.

“That didn’t stop you before,” you muse thoughtfully, starting to consistently kitten lick the underside of his head. “Didn’t stop you from fucking me that night. Right here, in this car.”

Joel felt his reason snap. Fuck it then. Fuck it. You wanted to play this game? Then fine. He’d give you what you wanted. But then it was over.

Famous last words.

His hand drops down to tangle in your hair, forcing your parted mouth to take in his cock. He couldn’t take it anymore. The teasing. It was rich coming from him considering he’d given you the same shit numerous times. Waiting until you’d beg. Plead. You make a surprised sound at the action but welcome his tip into your mouth, sucking hard enough to make Joel hiss, his grip tightening.

“Fuck, Angel. Is this what you wanted? Wanted to rile me up? Test my fuckin’ patience?” He demands, scratching softly at your scalp. He hears you hum a sound of confirmation around him and the vibrations send him dangerously close to closing his eyes and taking his focus off the road completely.

At least he’d die a happy man.

You hollow your cheeks, the suction of your hot, wet mouth making a soft moan fall from Joel’s lips. You feel yourself grow needy between your legs, the spot at the apex of your thighs swelling and pulsing in time with your thundering heartbeat. You clench your thighs together in an attempt to diffuse some of the tension there.

You feel your pulse thrum in your head, the adrenaline and wrongness of the situation only heightening your arousal and, seemingly, Joel’s. The thought of someone passing in their car, seeing you here with your head between your fathers best friends thighs sent a thrill down your spine.

You pull off his cock and gasp for a breath, a string of spit connecting you to Joel. Joel peeks down at you for longer than was probably considered safe, the sight of you drooling and messy for him, fucking your mouth on his dick.. fuck it made his balls tighten.

Joel’s hand comes down to cup your chin, tilting your face up for your eyes to meet his. “Gonna get me in trouble, you know that?” He asks a little rhetorically. His voice is husky, a little guttural.

You give him a wrecked look in return, rutting your hips downward to emphasise what you wanted from him. “Please.” You say softly, your eyes doing the talking.

Immediately, Joel understands what it is that you want and makes quick work on using his free hand to unbutton your denim shorts, shoving his hand down your underwear and finding you slick and warm. The thought of what he could have his cock inside rather than your mouth, made him groan. Not that he didn’t love your mouth, but fuck, that pussy..

You gasp involuntarily as his thumb connects with your clit. Honestly, you weren’t really looking for any penetration, just some rubbing to ease the tension you were feeling. And it was as if Joel understood just that. He always did.

You moan softly and part your mouth once again, grinding your hips into his hand as you bob your mouth up and down on his cock. You bring a hand up to his shaft, wrapping around the part of him you couldn’t fit in your mouth. Your other hand rests on his inner thigh, the solid muscles beneath your hand making you even more aroused.

You can hear Joel struggling above you, his head thumps back against the headrest, his fingers getting sloppy on your clit as pleasure started to cloud his mind. You smile as best you could with his girth stretching your mouth when you feel him start to tremble. “Good?” Your garble around him, your voice muffled and ridiculous.

And you could’ve sworn you heard him growl at the sound of your voice. He nods, grinding his teeth hard enough to hurt. “Gonna cum — fuck,” he swears. “That’s good, sweetheart. Real good, use your tongue under my head, just like that.” He blurts, his hips bucking up slightly, as if he couldn’t control it.

Which, he probably couldn’t.

And then he was cumming.

His tip begins to spurt rope after rope of his hot, creamy cum into your mouth, the quantity of his seed telling you just how long it’s been since he’s found release in the time you’ve both been apart.

You whimper at the sensation of him filling your mouth, the scent and taste of him on your tongue. Without thinking twice, you swallow him down in one, a feeling of relief settling deep in your stomach despite not having a release yourself.

Joel pants above you, his hand that was in your pants now shoved into his mouth. You hadn’t even realised he’d been sucking the taste of you off his fingers until now when you looked up.

And the expression on his face? It was pure bliss.

Okay I know this is really short and I actually kinda hate it because I got super lazy toward the end but…. I love this dynamic!! Pls consider dropping a comment or reblog if you enjoyed, it’s very much appreciated!!

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[littledes1re]

SEX POLLEN·˚༉‧₊˚.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female!reader x Jack Abbott

Summary: It wasn’t supposed to happen. One wrong turn past the perimeter, one breath of unknown, drifting pollen, and suddenly Joel is pounding on Jack Abbott’s door with you burning up in his arms. Now it’s the middle of the night, the town's asleep, and the only medic who won’t report the two of you is the one staring at you down like he already knows this is going to get real bad.

Warnings: 18+, Smut, THREESOME, slight fluff, Age gap (Joel is 60, Jack is 50 and reader is in her 20s), sweet!joel, gentle!jack, fictional sex pollen, double penetration, inaccurate medical/scientific shit, needy!reader, pinv, unprotected sex, lots of fluid and cum lol, nipple play, finger sucking, medical kink, gloves kink?, pet names, clit rubbing, oral f!receiving, fingering, multiple orgasms, squirting, medical exam, sub!reader kinda

A/N: guess who watched The Pitt and fell for yet again another old man...also! I finally learned how to do this cool gradient text thingy and now i feel even more aesthetic✨ none of this below makes sense like AT ALL but just ignore it and enjoy the smut pookies <333

"Open the goddamn door, Abbott!"

Joels boots hit the wooden steps of Jack Abbott's clinic hard enough to rattle the whole damn porch. His first knock wasn't even a knock—it was a fist slamming into the wood, a desperate, violent slam that echoed through the otherwise quiet streets of Jackson. 

The night air was thick with a cold that etched deep into bones, wind so strong it moved trees and houses. But Joel couldn't feel it. Not when you were burning up in his arms, your body almost a furnace pressed tight against his chest, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps that tore at his heart one by one. 

Your skin was slick with sweat despite the chill, and your eyes—those sweet eyes that usually held so much warmth, so much life—were glassy, trying to focus but failing to land on anything. 

Then, a light flickered inside. The lock scraped, and the door swung open to reveal Jack Abbott, still half-dressed in a worn pullover over his undershirt, his grey hair mussed from sleep that had clearly been interrupted. 

"What the hell happened?" He asked, eyes going worried. 

Joel didn't answer. 

He just moved, carrying you past Jack and down the narrow hallway that led to the small clinic room Jack kept in his home. 

The space was clean but lived-in: a metal examination chair in the center, shelves lined with bottles and worn medical texts, a couch, a single lamp casting a warm, yellow glow over the worn wooden floor. 

Jack Abbott arrived in Jackson a little over two years after Joel did. 

He had been traveling with a small group before, acting as their medic, but the constant moving wore him down. 

Jackson was the first place in years that felt safe enough to stop, so he stayed when Maria asked him if he wanted to, while the others moved on. 

Within a few months, he turned one of the unused small houses near the edge of town into two spaces: a tiny clinic in the front and a small living area for himself in the back.

People started calling it Abbott's clinic.

Joel met him after a patrol accident left him with a deep cut. 

Jack stitched him up with quiet, steady confidence, and Joel respected him immediately. 

He didn't ask too many questions, no bullshit, no small talk. Over time, Joel kept ending up at Jack's door, Jack kept patching him, and a quiet, practical friendship formed between them.

So when Joel set you down on his examination chair he knew you were in good hands. 

His hands stayed on you, steady, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt. 

Jack followed close behind, already pulling out a pair of latex gloves from a box on the counter. 

The snap of rubber against his wrists was sharp in the quiet room. He moved to your other side, his eyes scanning you with the practiced efficiency of someone who had seen too many emergencies in too many late hours. 

"Joel." He said it firmly, not a question. Then softer, more insistent. "Joel. Talk to me. What happened?"

Joel dragged a hand down his face, the stubble rough against his palm. 

"We—" He stopped. Swallowed. And then started again, his voice lower. "We weren't supposed to be there."

Jack's eyebrows shot up. "Where?"

"The old storage yard. Past the perimeter."

The silence stretched for one beat, two, three and Joel could see the thoughts racing behind those dark eyes—the implications, the danger, the sheer stupidity of it. 

Jack let out a slow breath, his jaw tightening. "You two were past the forbidden perimeter?"

Joel nodded once, feeling guilty, miserable.

"She saw…" He let out a frustrated huff, shaking his head. "Hell, I don't know. Rabbits or somethin'. Wanted a closer look."

His voice cracked on the last words—with frustration, with...with anger at himself, at the moment of weakness that had led him to agree, to let you wander just a little too far, just a little too deep into the overgrown brush beyond the safe zone. 

You had smiled at him. God—that sweet, hopeful smile that made it impossible to say no. And now you were here, burning up and it was all his fault.

"She breathed in this cloud of…dust. Pollen. Somethin'."

Jack only stared at him, open mouth, gaze caught somewhere between disbelief and the cold calm of a man processing information. 

He opened his mouth, then closed it. Then, very quietly, he said: "Joel."

"It ain't important right now," Joel snapped, the words cutting through the air like a blade. But the edge softened almost immediately as his eyes flicked back to you, and his voice dropped to something quieter, more fragile. "Just—just fix her, alright?"

Jack held his gaze for a long moment. Then he nodded, once, and turned his full attention to you. 

He leaned in, his movements careful, deliberate, as he reached for a small penlight from besides him. "Alright, sweetheart. Let's take a look at you."

He leaned closer, bringing the penlight up to your eyes. But your head lolled slightly, and you squirmed on the chair, a low, restless sound escaping your throat. Jack paused, his hand hovering near your jaw.

"Easy now. I need you to hold still for just a second, okay?" He tilted his head, meeting your gaze from behind the flashlight. "C'mon. Look at me."

Your eyes—glassy, unfocused, pupils blown wide—drifted toward him. 

Jack clicked on the penlight, shining it first into your left eye, then your right, watching the way your pupils reacted—or failed to react. His brow furrowed. He hummed low in his throat, a sound that made Joel's stomach clench.

He clicked off the penlight, put it back into his place, and straightened up. He met Joel's gaze, his expression thoughtful.

"Pupils are dilated and sluggish. Could be a neuroactive toxin," he said, his voice carrying the weight of professional assessment. "Some kind of alkaloid, maybe. That targets the central nervous system." He paused, then added, almost to himself, "But her skin is flushed, and her pulse is tachycardic. Heart rate's way up. Could be pyrexia, but…" He trailed off, then turned back to you, his voice gentle again. "How did this flower look? Can you tell me anything about it?"

Your lips parted. "Trans…translucent. Purple."

Jack's eyes sharpened suddenly. 

He turned away, crossing to the cluttered desk in the corner where a worn leather notebook sat among scattered papers. He opened it and the silence stretched while he flipped through it. 

"Damn it," Jack muttered under his breath.

Joel stiffened. "What?"

Jack didn't look up. He kept turning pages, his finger tracing lines of cramped handwriting. "I've seen mentions of this before. Not many though, just scattered reports from patrol medics out west. And a couple of passing mentions in some old pre-outbreak botany notes I found in the library archive." He stopped on a page, reading it intently. Then he let out a slow breath and turned to face Joel.

"Reports of what?" Joel pressed, his voice tight.

Jack hesitated. It was a hesitation that Joel had never seen on him before.

He set the notebook down and crossed his arms, his gaze flickering between you and Joel.

"A mutated flower. Causes fever, disorientation, elevated pulse…and some....sexual changes." 

Joels head snapped up. "It ain't the time for jokes, Abbott." 

But Jack didn't flinch. "I'm not joking. That's what the reports called it. I told you—it causes fever, disorientation, elevated pulse." He paused, letting the words settle. "The body's been flooded with a compound that mimics extreme sexual arousal. It's not toxic on its own, but if left untreated, the fever and heart strain can cause complications."

Joel stared at him and when he turned back to you, he saw the way your fingers curled and uncurled against the metal and the way a soft, breathy sound escaped your lips as you shifted restlessly on the chair.

"Complications," Joel repeated, his voice hollow. "What kind of complications?"

Jack moved closer, his expression softening as he looked at you. He reached out, pressing the back of his hand gently against your forehead, feeling the fever that radiated off you in waves.

"If we don't address the underlying arousal-based symptoms, the body will keep ramping up. Heart rate spikes. Temperature climbs. Eventually, the system burns out." He pulled his hand away, his voice dropping lower. "The only effective treatment recorded in those reports is…direct physical release. Sexual stimulation to completion, multiple times, until the compound is flushed from the system."

He held up a hand as Joel opened his mouth, ready to protest. "Look, I know how it sounds. But I've seen enough strange things in this world to know that nature doesn't care about what sounds reasonable."

Joel turned away, his hand dragging through his hair, frustration in his face.

"So what are you tellin' me? That I gotta—" He couldn't even finish the sentence.

"I'm telling you that she needs care, Joel. And that care is going to involve intimacy. Whether that's with you, or with me helping her through it medically, or both—that's up to you. But she can't wait much longer." Jack's voice was calm, steady, the voice of a man doing his job. The room fell silent again. The only sounds were your labored breathing and the faint ticking of a clock somewhere deeper in the house.

Joel then turned back, his eyes meeting yours. He saw the fear in them—and something else, something raw and needy that he didn't know how to name.

And suddenly—

"Please," you whined, the word thick and broken. "Please…need…need something."

Your body was a furnace, burning from the inside out. Every nerve ending felt raw, exposed, screaming for relief. The fabric of your shirt clung to your skin, damp with sweat, and it felt like a cage. Your hands moved before your mind could catch up—grabbing at the hem, tugging, pulling.

Joel's eyes widened. "Hey, hey—hold on—"

But you couldn't hold on anymore.

You were beyond reason, beyond shame. You squirmed against the chair, your movements jerky and frantic, yanking your shirt over your head and tossing it aside.

Joel caught your wrists gently, trying to slow you down, but you twisted out of his grip, your fingers fumbling with the button of your jeans, the zipper, pushing them down your hips with a desperate, whimpering sound that tore at Joel's chest.

"Honey—" Joel started, his voice cracking.

But Jack held up a hand, his expression calm but intent. "Let her. The compound is driving her body to seek release. Fighting it will only make it worse, Joel."

Joel's hands fell to his sides. He watched, helpless, as you rid yourself of the last of your clothing, tossing jeans and panties to the floor until you were bare on the examination chair, your skin flushed and slick with sweat, your chest heaving with every ragged breath.

Your legs fell open without thought, your hips rolling against the cold metal, searching for friction that wasn't there.

"Need…please…I need something…" Your voice was a broken loop, tears starting to stream down your cheeks.

Joel's throat tightened. He looked at Jack.

When Jack met his gaze, there was no judgment in those dark eyes—only the weight of a man who understood the gravity of the situation. Jack's hand paused over your body, as he turned to Joel, his expression asking a silent question.

May I?

Joel stared at him for a long, breathless moment. Then he nodded, his voice low and rough. "Do what ya gotta do. I trust you."

Jack's shoulders relaxed a fraction and he moved to the foot of the chair, positioning himself between your spread legs. 

"I ain't no gynaecologist," Jack said, his voice carrying a hint of dry humour. "But I need to see if it's really the flower we're talking about. The reports mentioned specific physical changes."

Joel clenched his jaw, stepping closer and placing his hands on your shoulders, holding you steady as you squirmed beneath him. You looked up at him, your eyes glassy and wet, and you whimpered.

"Please…let him…"

Joel let out a shaky breath. He looked at Jack and gave a short, sharp nod.

Jack leaned in. His gloved fingers found your thighs, then he gently parted your labia with precision. 

He murmured to himself, cataloging observations as he worked. "Labia swollen. Significant engorgement. Vulvar tissue appears hyperemic, engorged with blood flow consistent with severe vasocongestion." 

You gasped as his thumb accidentally brushed against the hood of your clit, a jolt of electricity shooting through your core. Your hips bucked involuntarily, a desperate, wordless sound escaping your lips.

"Easy," Jack murmured, more to himself than to you. 

He shifted his grip, using his thumb and forefinger to part the inner folds, exposing your entrance. It was gaping, red, and glistening with a clear, almost viscous fluid that had already pooled on the chair beneath you.

Joel's hands tightened on your shoulders, his knuckles almost white. 

He trusted Jack—hell, he was the only man in this godforsaken place he trusted you with. But he still couldn't help the way he felt. A little too protective. Maybe even jealous.

"Her insides feel swollen," Jack said. He pressed two fingers—index and middle—against your opening, testing the resistance. The muscles fluttered and clenched, straining against the intrusion before it even begun. "Loss of tone in the pelvic floor muscles. Usually, there's some natural tension, but here…it's like her body is actively pulling things in."

And then he pressed inside.

The latex-covered fingertips breached you with a wet, slick sound that echoed in the small room.

You cried out—not in pain, but in need that tore through every nerve ending. Your back arched off the chair, your head thrown back, Joel's name falling from your lips in a desperate, ragged moan.

"Oh, fuck—!"

Jack didn't move. He held his fingers still, buried to the second knuckle, his eyes fixed on your face, watching your reaction with clinical detachment even as his body betrayed a slight tension.

"She's extremely sensitive. The internal tissues are swollen and hot—probably a few degrees above normal body temperature. The flower is causing nerve hypersensitivity."

Your hips bucked again, grinding against Jack's hand, seeking more. Every bit of shame leaving your body.

But the pressure of his fingers inside you was maddening—not enough, never enough. You whimpered, a high, thin sound that turned into a gasping sob as Jack slowly began to withdraw his fingers, dragging them along your inner walls.

And then, suddenly, an orgasm hit you without warning. 

It crashed through you like a wave, sudden and violent, pulling a strangled scream from your throat. Your entire body clenched, your inner muscles spasmed around Jack's retreating fingers, and a gush of fluid flooded out of you, soaking his gloved hand and dripping onto the chair in thick, sticky ropes.

Jack pulled his hand back, his fingers coated in the warm, translucent fluid. He held them up, examining the consistency with narrowed eyes.

Joel could only stare, his mouth hanging open. 

His gaze flicked from your flushed, trembling body to Jack's dripping fingers, and then back to your face, where tears and sweat had mingled in a mask of desperate relief and craving.

"Did she just…?" Joel's voice was hoarse, cautious. 

Jack nodded slowly, wiping his fingers on a clean cloth. "Ejaculate. Yeah. That's…that's exactly what that was. The flower causes her body to reach climax extremely quickly—and just as quickly, the need returns. It's like the release doesn't satisfy anything; it only opens the door for more."

You were already squirming again, your hips rolling against the empty air, your breath coming in sharp, frantic pants. "Please…more…need more…"

Jack set the cloth aside and picked up the blood pressure cuff, wrapping it around your upper arm. 

He pumped it up, watching the gauge as the numbers climbed. 

"This is an unusual procedure," he said, his voice flat. "Her body will need release. Repeatedly. And even then, the effects might last for hours—until the compound works its way out of her system."

Joel ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the grey strands in frustration. "Jesus Christ. Is there any medicine? Anything you can give her to stop this? To slow it down?"

Jack shook his head, the blood pressure cuff hissing as he released the pressure. "No. This is all about managing symptoms. The fever, the blood pressure, the dehydration. The only thing that treats the root cause is—" He paused, glancing at Joel. "—well, you know..."

He pulled off his gloves with a snap, tossing them into a bin. Then he grabbed a fresh pair, pulling them on with practiced efficiency. 

"I could now let you two go," Jack said, turning to face Joel fully. "Let you handle this on your own. Just fuck like goddamn rabbits for the next few hours. But her blood pressure is 160 over 110. That's stroke territory if we're not careful. And her fever is also still climbing."

You whimpered on the chair, your hand reaching out blindly. "Please…Joel…I need…"

Joel caught your hand, pressing it to his chest. "S'okey, honey. I'm right here. Don't be scared." He leaned down, pressing another kiss to your damp forehead, his voice softening to a trembling murmur. "I got you. I ain't goin' nowhere."

He turned to Jack, his eyes hard and resolute. "I'll do it. You keep her fever and blood pressure in line. I trust you."

Jack nodded. 

He pulled the chair behind your head, positioning himself so he could put cool towels on your forehead and monitor the equipment. 

"I'll keep the cold packs on her neck and forehead, monitor her vitals. You handle the rest."

Joel let out a long, shaky breath. He shrugged off his jacket, tossing it onto the nearby counter. He moved between your legs, his boots scraping against the worn linoleum.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, looking down at the mess you've had made. 

Your pussy was a complete wreck; swollen, red, glistening with a mix of your own fluids and the lingering evidence of your climax. Your clit stood out, big and glossy, twice its usual size. Your hole gaped, soft and open, the muscles twitching with unfulfilled need. 

Joel had never seen you like that. Not even when he fucked you countless times the night before. 

Jack's voice came from behind your head, quiet and steady. "I know. That's the flower."

Joel looked at your face—your tear-streaked cheeks, your parted lips, your eyes glassy and fixed on him with desperate, animal hunger. He placed his rough, calloused hands on your inner thighs, spreading you wider.

"You'll be fine, babygirl," he whispered, more to himself than to you. "I'll take care of you."

Joel's jaw tightened, his gaze flicked anywhere but towards Jack as he unzipped himself and wrapped a calloused hand around his own cock. 

He stroked himself slowly at first, trying to will himself hard despite the awkward weight of another man's eyes in the room. Embarrassment flushed his neck, but the sight of you—needy, swollen, and waiting—pushed him forwards. 

He needed to do this for you, his sweet girl, no matter how strange it felt with his old friend watching.

Joel lined himself up, the thick head of his cock nudging against your entrance before he pushed inside in one steady thrust.

A high-pitched moan tore from your throat, your hips bucking up to meet him as your walls fluttered and sucked him deeper.

"Continue," Jack said quietly, nodding once, his voice calm and measured.

Joel grunted, hips snapping forward. 

The wet, splashing sounds of your soaked pussy filled the small clinic room with every thrust, obscene and loud. 

He punched into you harder, the head of his cock dragging against that sweet, sensitive spot inside while your cunt milked him greedily, rhythmic pulses drawing him in.

"You need to talk to her the way you guys always do it, Joel," Jack instructed, still monitoring your pulse. "Keep her grounded."

Joel's eyebrows furrowed, but he nodded, voice rough. "D-does that feel good, honey?" He drove deeper, breath hitching. "Prettiest cunt all fuckin' swollen. Look at you, takin' me so good."

You whined, the praise sending fresh heat through you. 

Jack suppressed a smirk, trying to focus instead on the steady thrum beneath his fingers. "Pulse is elevated but stable," he murmured. "Pupils are still dilated."

And without warning, another orgasm crashed over you. 

This time, your thighs fell further apart as a raw cry teared from your throat, back arching off of the examination chair. Your cunt clamped down, once, twice, then opened. A hot, gushing stream bursted hard, pushing Joel's cock out and making a splashing sound in the quiet room. 

"Joel—"

Joel's breath hitched as your cries echoed off of the walls, his eyes widening when the hot flood gushed against his groin.

"Fuck," he muttered, almost to himself. His eyes landed on Jack's calm ones, and a wave of embarrassment hit him. He was standing there like this was nothing, like the whole scene wasn't awkward as hell, and Joel just couldn't decide if that made it better or worse.

Jack nodded, his eyes landing on your clenching tummy. "Normal reaction."

Joel cursed again, gripping his slick cock and thrusting back inside your still-quivering pussy. 

"Wanted to see those bunnies, huh?" he rasped, tsking with his tongue as he set a punishing rhythm. "Now look at what happened to you." 

Each thrust made your squelching cunt echo wetly around him.

Jack's gaze sharpened as he noticed drool slipping from the corner of your mouth. "Hm. Another autonomic response; excessive salivation," he noted, and glanced at Joel mid-thrust. "Mind if I help keep her calm?"

Joel nodded without breaking his rhythm. He didn't care anymore. He just wanted you to feel better.

"Easy now. Breathe for me." Jack slid two latex-gloved fingers past your lips. "I'm just gonna help you." 

And you immediately sucked them in, tongue swirling, a broken whimper escaping around them. "Please, doctor…"

Jack's breath got caught in his throat, his own cock twitching to life, growing visibly against his pants even though he was trying to he professional. 

"S'okay, sweetheart." he soothed, fingers gentle but firm in your mouth.

You sucked on them with desperate, whining pulls, saliva coating the gloves. 

Joel shook his head, voice strained. "God damn flowers."

"I know," Jack replied, eyes flicking down to where Joel's cock disappeared into your soaked cunt. "Reports were way worse. It's like heat for humans—constant need until the cycle breaks."

Joel kept thrusting, the filthy wet sounds growing louder, his thumb finding your sensitive clit, giving only gentle, light rubs. You moaned around Jack's fingers, whimpered, your body arching from the stool as another orgasm ripped through you.

He buried himself deep, grunting as he came too, hot pulses of cum flooding your cunt while your walls clenched around him.

Jack's free hand stroked your hair. "You're doing so well," he whispered. "That's it. Let it all out."

Joel slowly pulled out, watching thick ropes of his release trickle down from your swollen pussy. He tucked himself back in, thinking that would be enough. 

But the needy ache in your core hadn't faded. Your hips still rocked, eyes glassy, silently begging for more. Your cunt started clenching again, desperate to be stuffed. 

Jack pulled his fingers out of your mouth, taking his gloves off. 

"She's…she's still not done," he said, his voice softer now, laced with an uncertainty that wasn't there before. 

He swallowed. "The flower's effects are cumulative. She's had three orgasms so far, but the pollen load was significant." 

Jack's fingers trailed down your cheek, your jaw, until they rested on your collarbone. "Your heart rate's still high." He glanced at Joel. "Can you hold her steady? I need to examine her cervix again."

Joel nodded, his hand moving to cradle your head. He leaned over you, his face inches from yours, his breath was warm against your cheek, pressing a kiss on your nose. "You hear that, baby? Doctor Abbott's gonna take a look. Just breathe, okay?"

Jack pulled on a fresh pair of gloves, the snap of latex loud in the quiet. 

He positioned himself between your legs again, his fingers gentle as he parted your slick folds. 

Your cunt was still a swollen, pink mess—puffy and raw, dripping with Joel's cum and your own release. 

Jack's brows furrowed deeper, his tongue wetting his lips. "No tearing. But she's inflamed. The tissue is still pretty engorged." He pressed two fingers just inside your entrance, and you gasped, your hips bucking. "Still sensitive. Very sensitive."

Joel watched, his eyes dark, the grip on your hand tightening. "What do we need to do?"

Jack withdrew his fingers slowly. "I think…I think she needs stimulation again. But maybe a different angle. She's been stimulated vaginally. The flower's compounds are absorbed through the mucous membranes, so oral stimulation might also help" He looked at Joel, and for the first time, a faint blush colored his cheeks. "I could…only if that's okay with you, I could use my mouth. On her. It's the gentlest way. Fingers or a toy might be too rough with the swelling."

Joel's eyebrows rised. He didn't say anything for a long moment, just stared at Jack with a mixture of surprise and unsureness. But he trusted him. "You're the doctor." 

Jack's answer was a shaky breath. 

He knelt down, his prosthetic clicking softly as he positioned himself between your spread thighs. He looked up at Joel, eyes wide, his voice was barely above a whisper. "I won't do something that you don't want."

"You won't," Joel said, and there's a quiet certainty in his voice. "You're good at what you do. And you care. That's all that matters."

Jack leaned in, his lips brushing the inside of your thigh first, a soft, hesitant kiss. He started murmuring to you, his words muffled against your skin. "It's okay, sweetheart. Just relax. Let me help you." 

He trailed his mouth up, leaving a wet path, until he reached your pussy. 

He hesitated at first, his breath hot against your swollen folds, and then his tongue darted out, flicking tentatively over your clit.

You cried out, a sharp, high sound, your hips jerking. 

Joel shushed you, his hand stroking your hair. "Easy, easy, honey. Let him work."

Jack's tongue moved in slow, careful circles, his eyes closed, his whole being focused on the task. He was so gentle—so so gentle it almost hurt. He let his tongue flatten, just barely, dragging the softest, wettest line from the bottom of your slit all the way up to the hood of your swollen clit.

When he reached the nub, he didn't flick or circle. 

Instead, he parted his lips just enough to take the tiny bud between them, not sucking, not even really holding—just resting it there, letting his breath ghost over it. He knew you were sensitive so he gave it a single, featherlight pulse of his tongue, like a heartbeat, before releasing it just as gently.

He pulled back for a moment, looking at Joel. "She's still very wet. The pollen keeps secreting fluids. That's good—it means her body is actively metabolizing." 

He pressed another kiss onto your inner thigh, his hand coming up to cup your mound, his thumb rubbing soft circles. "You're doing so well. Just a little more, okay? I'll make it good."

Joel watched, his breath coming heavier. He was hard again, his cock pressing against his jeans. 

He didn't touch himself, though. He just held you, his eyes locked on Jack's mouth as it worked over you, his own throat tight with something that feels like gratitude and jealousy all tangled together.

"I got her, Joel," Jack said between gentle strokes of his tongue, his voice strained. "She's responding. Clenching. She's—" He broke off as you moaned, your body beginning to tremble again. "She's close. Another one."

Joel leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. "Let go, baby. Let Jack take care of you. You can do it."

Your orgasm build, slow and deep, and when it finally broke; it's was a rolling, shuddering wave that pulled a desperate sob from your chest. 

He didn't stop, his tongue gentling through the aftershocks, drawing out every last tremor until you're limp, your body sagging into the chair.

"Good, yeah, that's real good," Jack pulled back, wiping his chin with his hand while looking at the fluids you released. "She did well." 

You breathed out, already feeling your cunt spasm again, in need of another release. 

Jack checked your fever and your blood pressure again, letting out a soft breath, turning to face Joel. His voice was low and gentle, unhurried. "It's still not stabilizing the way I'd like. Her heart rate's come down which is good. But her blood pressure's still sitting high, and her temperature's not dropping."

Joel's grip on your hand tightened. "God dammit. What else can we do?" He asked. "You said oral would help." 

Jack nodded slowly. "It did help. It brought her some relief. But the pollen is trapped in her pelvic tissue now. To fully clear it, she needs a stronger parasympathetic response. I think at this point, oral alone won't reach that deep."

He paused, thinking. 

"There's another option," he said, looking at Joel first, then down at you. "It's a bit more...involved. But I think it would work. I've read it in the reports."

Joel's brows furrowed. "Just tell me."

"Dual stimulation. It could trigger a more complete autonomic response. Simultaneous penetration of the vaginal and anal canals would increase overall parasympathetic activation, potentially clearing the pollen from deeper tissue through intensified contractions and fluid release."

He held up a hand, reassuring. "I know it sounds like a lot. But i've read enough of them in the reports."

Joel looked at you, then back at Jack. His voice was rough but not angry. "You mean, hell—both of us? At the same time?"

"If you're comfortable with that," Jack said, his tone still gentle, almost apologetic. "I wouldn't suggest it if I thought there was another way. But she's still suffering, Joel. I can see it in her eyes. And I don't want her fever to spike again."

Joel stared at the floor for a long moment, then looked at you. Your skin was still flushed, your eyes glassy with need, begging him to do something. You squeezed his hand weakly, a small sound escaping your throat. 

He let out a breath. "Fine. If it'll help her. But I swear to god above, Abbott, if she stays like this. Then—"

"Joel… I hear you," Jack murmured, hands half‑raised in a calming gesture. "I'm not…I'm not thrilled about this either. But I won't let anything happen to her. I promise you that."

He then knelt between your legs again, his hands resting lightly on your thighs. "I need to check if she's ready," he said. "The pollen causes natural relaxation, but I want to be sure there's no discomfort."

He pressed a thumb gently against your perineum, then traced it along the rim of your anus. 

The touch was featherlight, exploratory but uour body responded without a thought: a shiver, a soft gasp. 

Jack looked up at Joel, his expression calm.

"She's already relaxed. No prep needed." He nodded. 

Jack shifted his gaze to you. His hand remained where it was, a grounding pressure against your most intimate space. He spoke slowly, his voice a soothing murmur.

"Sweetheart, I'm going to tell you exactly what we're thinking, and you can take your time. There's no rush."

He paused, waiting for your eyes to meet his.

"Joel will be with you the way he always is—inside you, slow and gentle. And I'll be behind you, entering you here," he said, his thumb pressing just slightly inward, "in your bottom. We'll move together, very slowly, matching each other's pace. It'll feel full—intense—but it won't hurt if you're relaxed, and you are. The pollen will release, your fever will come down, and your heart will settle."

He watched your face, his eyes patient and warm.

Joel leaned down, brushing his lips against your nose. "It's your call, babygirl. I'm right here."

Your breathing hitched. The heat inside you coiled tighter, desperate. You looked up at Joel, then at Jack—his dark eyes patient, his hand steady on your body. 

You nodded, needy. 

"Yes," you whispered. "Please. I need something." 

Jack's lips curved into a faint, reassuring smile. "That's good. That's real good." He withdrew his hand slowly and looked at Joel. 

Joel's jaw tightened. He lifted your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, slow and deliberate. Then he looked over his shoulder at Jack, and to the couch in the room. "This couch work for you? She'll be more comfortable there—pillows, somethin' to brace against."

Jack nodded, already moving. "I'll get it set up."

-

Jack cleared the sofa with efficient movements: tossing aside a pillow, spreading a clean blanket over the cushions, positioning two more pillows against the armrest. 

His hands moved with practiced precision, but there was a slight tremor in his fingers as he smoothed the fabric. 

He was trying to stay professional. It was cute, in a way; this man who had stitched up Joel's wounds and patched up Jackson's sick, now preparing a makeshift bed for something more intimate.

And you wouldn't lie if it didn't excite you. 

While Jack worked, Joel stayed with you. He cupped your face in both hands, his thumbs tracing the line of your cheekbones. 

"Hey," he murmured, tilting your chin up so you had to meet his eyes. "Look at me."

You did. His eyes so soft. Tender. The same eyes that had watched over you during patrol, that had softened when you begged him to take you to the forbidden parameter just to see those stupid, wild rabbits and play with them. 

"It's gonna be alright," he said. "You trust me?"

"Always," you breathed.

"Trust Jack?"

You glanced towards the sofa, where Jack was adjusting the last pillow. He caught your gaze and offered a small, reassuring smile—the same smile he gave before setting a broken bone, before delivering difficult news. 

Professional. Always kind and gentle. 

"Yes," you said. "I trust him."

Joel leaned in and kissed you then. Slow, thorought, a kiss that promised you stability. His lips moved against yours with a gentle pressure, his tongue brushing the seam of your mouth, tasting you. One hand slid into your hair, cradling the back of your head, while the other found the small of your back, pulling you just slightly closer.

When he broke the kiss, you were breathless. He rested his forehead against yours.

"Good girl," he whispered. "You're doing so good. Now let's get you comfortable."

Without warning, Joel slid one arm under your knees and the other behind your back, lifting you off of the exam chair as if you weighed nothing. 

You gasped, your arms instinctively winding around his neck.

Jack had positioned himself on the far end of the sofa, sitting sideways, his legs spread, a condom wrapper discarded on the side table. 

He was already hard—you could see the outline of his cock straining against his jeans, and when he shifted, the fabric pulled tight. 

"Come here," Jack said, his voice a low murmur. He patted the cushion besides him. "There we go."

Joel lowered you gently onto the sofa, your knees sinking into the plush cushion. You were facing him, your hands braced on his broad shoulders, while he sat down too. 

And behind you, you could feel the heat of Jack's body.

"Alright," Joel said, his hands sliding from your shoulders down your arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps. "He's gonna take care of you from behind. And I'll be right here." He tapped your chin, making you look at him. "Right in front of you. You need to stop, you tap my arm twice. You need a breath, you say my name. You hear?"

"Yes," you whispered.

"Good girl."

He touched you gently, his hands guiding your hips, your knees, until your back was closer to Jack and you were still facing Joel. He then  positioned you on your knees, the cushion soft beneath you, your thighs spread just enough to accommodate what was coming.

Jack's breath caught. 

His eyes roamed over you; the curve of your ass, your pretty waist, and your back. 

"You're in control," Jack said, and his voice was strained but still carrying that professional cadence, the doctor's calm. "I'm gonna put on a condom, then you can take it at your own pace." 

You heard the crinkle of a condom wrapper. Then the slick sound of him rolling it on. You looked over your shoulder, watching him position himself—knees spread, cock standing up from his body, the condom sheathing him in a thin layer of latex. 

His cock was thick, smaller than Joels, standing full and erect from a nest of dark and grey curls. His head was already a dark plum shade, slick with pre-cum bubbling on top, indicating that he was already hard all the while he examined you earlier.  

"Whenever you're ready, sweetheart." Jack said, and there was a raw edge to his voice now, the professional slip giving way to something hungrier. "Lower yourself onto me."

You reached behind you, fingers brushing his thigh. He flinched—a tiny jolt, involuntary. You saw his cock twitch, the head bobbing slightly.

"Please," you whispered. 

Jack's jaw tightened. His nostrils flared. He forced himself to nod, keeping his hands on his own knees. "It's okey. I'm right here." 

You braced one hand on the back of the sofa, the other reaching down to guide him. Your fingers found the head of his cock, slick with latex. 

You positioned it against your entrance—the tight ring of muscle that had just been stretched—and pushed back.

"There she goes." Joel murmured. 

The pressure was intense. 

A fullness that bordered on overwhelming. 

You felt every ridge, every inch as you sank onto him, your body yielding slowly, grudgingly. Jack's breath hissed through his teeth, a sharp, bitten-off sound. His knuckles were white where he gripped his own thighs, the tendons in his forearms standing out with the effort of staying still.

Joel breathed out, holding onto your waist as he guided you gently down. 

"Good," Jack managed, his voice strangled. "That's…that's perfect. You're doing so well." 

He was fully sheathed inside you then—your ass stretched around his cock, the sensation so deep it seemed to reach into your belly. You felt full, split open, but not in pain. Just…finally filled the way you needed it. 

In front of you, Joel watched your face with an intensity that made your stomach flip. His hand left your waist and stroked your thigh, a slow, grounding rhythm, his thumb tracing the crease where your leg met your hip. "You're my good girl." He whispered. 

His own cock was hard, straining against his jeans, but he made no move to touch himself. 

All his focus was on you.

"You got her?" Joel asked Jack, his voice low and gravelly.

"Yeah," Jack said, and his hands finally moved, settling on your hips. Not to guide you, not to push—just to steady. His palms were warm through the thin gown. "She's fully seated. Go ahead, Joel."

Joel's eyes never left yours. His cock thick and flushed, already slick with precum and your release from earlier. 

He shifted closer, his knees bracketing yours on the cushion, his cock pressing against your wet, waiting entrance. He didn't push in immediately. Instead, he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then your temple, then your lips—soft, lingering.

"I've got you," he murmured against your mouth. "Breathe for me. Deep and slow. I can feel you clenching already—you're so ready, baby." 

"Yes," you breathed.

He pushed in.

The sensation was indescribable—Joel's cock filling your cunt from the front, Jack's cock stretching your ass from behind. 

They were separated by only a thin wall of flesh, and you could feel every movement of each man through the other. Joel's thickness pressed against Jack's length, a constant, intimate pressure that made you gasp.

Joel groaned low in his chest, his forehead dropping to yours. "Fuck," he breathed. "There we go, honey. There we go. You feel so perfect around me." 

Behind you, Jack's grip tightened on your hips. "Jesus christ."

"I know," Joel said. "I know."

Joel stopped there, buried full, and let out a low breath against your neck. Then he looked down.

Your cunt was stretched wide around his shaft, the lips pulled apart, pink and slick with your own wetness. Below that, Jack's cock stuffed deep in your ass, making the whole patch of skin between your legs look swollen, used, full. 

He watched the way his own cock disappeared into you, how the flesh clung to him like it didn't want to let go. 

He then pressed a palm flat against your belly, rubbed slow circles just above where he's buried to calm you down.

They stayed still for a long moment—both of them buried inside you, your body stretched and full and trembling. Joel's breath was warm against your cheek. Jack's chest pressed against your back, his heart hammering against your shoulder blades.

"We're gonna move when you're ready. Slow and deep. Get your body to get used to it." Jack said behind you, gripping your waist. 

Joel huffed as a nod, giving your cheek a kiss before his hand touched your mound, spreading you to watch himself. 

Then they began to move. Small, shallow thrusts. 

At first, it's barely more than a pulse—a subtle shift of both cocks deep inside you, rocking in place. Your pussy flutters around the first, a gentle squeeze that welcomes the tiny motion. Your ass clenches around the second, holding him tight as he budges fractionally in and out.

You gasped, burying your head into his neck. 

"Shh, it's okey." he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "You can take it, babygirl." 

His lips found your cheek, soft and lingering. He pulled you back just enough to meet your eyes—half-lidded, glassy, still lost in the haze of pleasure. His thumb traced over your cheekbone, wiping a smear of drool from the corner of your mouth.

"So damn beautiful, aren't you?"

Behind you, Jack's breathing was heavy, controlled. He was pumping inside you, careful not to be fast, his hands resting on your hips with a gentleness that belied the tension in his shoulders. 

Over your shoulder, his gaze met Joel's.

A silent conversation passed between them. A nod. 

A confirmation. We're good. She's good. Keep going.

"She is doing good," Jack murmured. 

Joel nodded, his hand sliding down your side, fingers tracing the dip of your waist, the swell of your hip. "Best girl," he said, low and warm. "Yeah, baby?"

A sound tore out of you then. 

Loud, ragged, utterly needy. It rose from somewhere deep in your chest—a whine that had no shape, no words, just pure, aching want. 

Jack smiled. "Is she drooling again?"

Joel pulled back just enough to look at your face. Your lips were parted, slack, a glistening string of saliva stretching from your lower lip to your chin. 

Your eyes were all hazy, unfocused, your breath coming in shuddering gasps.

"Mmhmm," Joel hummed. "Look at you, baby. All drooling to your chin. Messy thing." 

Jack couldn't help but chuckle, his cock twitching inside you. His hand came up from behind then. His finger in latex, pressed against your lips without hesitation. The touch was light though, asking permission, even now.

Your mouth opened, and you took him in.

You closed your mouth around him and sucked, hard, hollowing your cheeks, pulling him deeper. A deep, shuddering satisfaction rolled through your chest. 

Your eyes fluttered closed. This was what you needed. Something to suck on. Something to anchor you. 

Jack's hissed out. "There you go. That helps, huh?" 

Joel's hand slid down your belly, past the slick, glistening mess of your thighs, until his thumb found your clit. It was swollen, angry red, twice its normal size and pushing out from its hood like a small, desperate pearl. The barest brush of his calloused thumb made your whole body jolt, a shockwave of sensation that ripped through you.

"Easy, Joel." Jack murmurs, his voice a low. "Her clitoris is sensitive right now. If you apply too much direct pressure, she might get overwhelmed. Try lighter, circular motions, just around the hood. Let her build."

Joel nodded, his eyes analysing your face as he touched the little nub gently. Slow, deliberate circles, barely any pressure.

Your back bowed, arching into Jack's chest, your mouth clamping down on his finger, sucking for dear life. 

The orgasm that ripped through you was sudden, violent but perfect. It started in your clit, that single point of pressure and radiated outwards in hot, electric waves. Your cunt clenched around Joel's cock, your ass tightening around Jack's. 

A broken cry escaped around the latex in your mouth.

"That's it," Jack groaned, pushing his finger deeper into your mouth, feeling your throat convulse around the tip. "Just like that, sweetheart. You got it."

Joel's smile was soft, his eyes wet with something profound. He kept his thumb moving in slow, steady circles, drawing out every last tremor of your climax. 

"You're doing so good for us, baby. Flushin' all that pollen out, huh?"

You nodded as best you could, gasping, drool pooling around Jack's knuckles. 

They held still then, pausing their thrusts and letting your body catch up, letting the aftershocks of your releasre ripple through you.

Jack's free hand moved to your wrist. 

His thumb pressed into the delicate skin, feeling the rapid thrum of your pulse. He counted silently. Then he moved his hand to the side of your neck, feeling the beat there, strong and wild. He pressed his palm to your forehead, then your cheek.

"Fever's going down," he said, the doctor's cadence threading back through the ragged lust in his voice. "Pulse is still a touch elevated. One more good one should flush the last of it out of her system completely."

He pulled his wet finger from your mouth with a 

slick pop. A string of saliva connected his glove to your lower lip, stretching thin, then breaking. 

Your mouth stayed open, seeking, needy so Joel planted open mouthed kisses on the corner of your lips. 

"S'so much, Joel," you whined, the words slurred and breathless. Your voice cracked. "S'too much. Can't—can't take—"

"I know, babygirl." Joel leaned in and pressed a long, lingering kiss to your forehead. His lips stayed there, warm and steady. "I know. But you can. You're almost there. One more. Just one more for us."

"Gonna be a good girl for me?" He asked. "For Doctor Abbott, too?" 

Joel glanced over at Jack, catching the faint flush rising in his cheeks. Jack swallowed dropping his gaze, and that tiny, embarrassed gesture pulled a low chuckle out of Joel.

You whined, nodding your head quickly. Your head lulled back, dropping to Jack's neck and looking up at him. 

"Are you?" he murmured, looking at you, the words slipping out before he could stop them—quiet, direct, and meant only for you.

Joel’s brows lifted, a slow grin tugging at his mouth. 

Your eyes went wide at his question. You nodded before you even realized you were doing it, breath catching as you stayed pressed against him.

Then, before you could turn around, Joel started thrusting upwards again. Slow, deep, deliberate. 

Each stroke was a long drag against your walls, a languid exploration of the slick, hot grip of your cunt. 

Jack started matching him, finding the counterpoint rhythm—sliding deeper as Joel pulled back, filling the space Joel left. His eyes were still on you, steady, nodding against the thrusts and counting them. 

The fullness was overwhelming, the stretch a perfect pressure that occupied every empty inch inside you.

A whine broke from your mouth. Your head stayed on Jacks shoulder, while your eyes landed on Joels face again.

He grunted, speeding his hips, calloused hands on your thighs moving you to the rhythm he built. 

"Someone's close," Jack said, his voice low.

"She is," Joel agreed breathless, hair falling damp to his forehead. "My sweet girl."

You moaned—sweet, broken, the sound rising from your chest like a prayer. Your head fell still Jack's shoulder, your eyes fluttering closed. Sweat glistened on your skin, beaded on your collarbone, trickled between your breasts.

Jack's hands slid up your damp stomach then.

They were slow, exploratory, tracing the lines of your ribs, the soft swell of your belly. 

His palms cupped your breasts, lifting them slightly, feeling their weight. His thumbs found your nipples—hard pebbles against the cool latex of his gloves. He rolled them gently, watching your face for reaction.

"These are also very sensitive," he observed. The clinical observation was a thin veneer over the raw truth—he just wanted his hands on you. And he started to become bold enough to do so. 

His thumbs circled and circled, pressed and pressed while pinched ever so lightly.

You whimpered, your hips bucking upward, grinding against Joel's thrusts.

"They are," Jack repeated, more to himself. "Good. That's good."

Joel watched your face, his pace quickening. A fine sheen of sweat covered his forehead, and a vein stood out on his neck. 

"Look at me, darlin'. C'mon. Let me see those eyes." 

You forced your lids open. Joel's gaze was locked on yours—dark, tender, burning.

"There you go," He growled. "Look at my babygirl...enjoying herself on two cocks, yea?"

Your cheeks flushed red at his words, closing your eyes again. 

The slick, wet sounds of your bodies filled the room. Jack's fingers stayed on your nipples, rolling, tugging, pinching in rhythm with the thrusts.

"Hey, look at me." Jack said behind you, firm. 

You did, looking into his eyes lazily. 

"You're close. I need you to focus on us, is that clear?" He asked, eyes searching for any discomfort in your face. 

Your eyes went wide at the sudden firmness in his voice. You nodded quickly, breath catching as you tried to steady your focus on him like he asked.

Joel let out a low, hum. “Yeah,” he said, a slow grin pulling at his mouth. “Listen to him.”

The pressure was building again—impossible, overwhelming. You were close, just like Jack said. Your thighs trembled. Your belly tightened. A hot coil wound in your core, drawing tighter with every stroke.

"C'mon," Joel urged, his voice dropping to a growl. "Give it to me, sweetheart. Let go. I'll catch you."

Jack's hips slapped against your ass, faster now, deeper. "Cum for us, sweetheart." he whispered against your ear. "Release it all. One more time."

And you did.

A hot gush came out of you—not a trickle, not a spasm, but a flood. It poured from your cunt, soaking Joel's cock, your thighs, his lap, the blanket beneath you. 

A broken cry tore from your throat, raw and desperate, as you squirted hard, the release feeling like the fever finally leaving your body. 

Your vision went white.

"Fuck," Jack groaned. He pulled out in one slick motion, the condom still snug on his cock. He ripped it off, stroking himself twice, three times, and spilled into the latex with a raw, shuddering groan that seemed to come from deep in his chest. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

Joel's arms were around you instantly. 

He dragged you flush against his sweaty chest, your weight settling on top of him as he fell back against the couch cushions. 

He was still inside you, buried deep, and he didn't stop. He thrusted up into you—four powerful, driving strokes, each one hitting that perfect, swollen spot.

"One more, sweetheart. C'mon. One more for me." He whispered into your ear. 

You squirted again—a weaker gush, a final release that flooded his belly and pooled beneath you. You cried out, burying your face into his neck. 

Joel let out a guttural grunt, his hips stuttering as he came, hot and thick, pumping into you with a desperate, possessive rhythm. His fingers dug into your hips, holding you in place.

Your body went limp, boneless, slack against Joel's chest. Your face burrowed into the hollow of his throat, into the damp, salty warmth of his skin. 

His heartbeat thudded against your cheek, strong and steady.

The world finally went soft, and your body relaxed. 

Jack on the other hand, moved with quiet efficiency besides you. His hands were gentle as he pressed two fingers to the hollow of your throat, counting the steady thrum of your pulse. 

He lifted one of your eyelids gently, checking your pupil response. A small flashlight flickered in his hand—when had he grabbed it? You had no idea. He pressed his palm to your forehead, your cheek, the side of your neck.

"She's asleep," he confirmed, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Completely out. Pulse is seventy-two. Pupils reactive. Skin temperature normal. Pollen's probably fully out. She's going to be just fine."

Joel's arm tightened around you, a possessive, protective reflex. 

He pressed a long kiss to the crown of your head, breathing you in. His hand came up to stroke your hair, smoothing the damp strands away from your face.

"God damn," he said to the ceiling, his voice a worn-out rasp. "That was wild."

He turned his head. Jack was on his feet, pulling his jeans up his hips, fastening his belt. Reaching for his flannel shirt. His movements were precise, unhurried, but there was a tremor in his hands that betrayed the cost of control.

"Thank you," Joel said. "No more bunnies for this Honeygirl." 

Jack paused mid-motion, chuckling, his hand on the collar of his shirt. He looked at Joel, then at your sleeping form, tucked into the curve of Joel's throat. Your lips were parted, your breath even and deep. 

He gave a single nod.

All that needed to be said, understood perfectly between them.

He finished buttoning his shirt and padded quietly into the kitchen. The faucet ran. A glass clinked. He was already preparing water for when you woke up, already thinking ahead.

Joel held you closer, his hand stroking your back in slow, soothing circles. 

He pressed another kiss to your hair, then let his eyes close, just for a moment, listening to the steady rhythm of your breathing, the proof that you were safe.

The way i googled the weirdest things guys...i've literally learned so much about the body LMFAO. if anybody sees my history they would think i've gone crazy. Also this is definitely not an excuse to write medical kink no no🫣

I hope this met some expectations, i'm still very very new to writing Jack abbott so please bear with me!!!

Taglist: @vickie5446 @thatgirlmendo @ihearttdilfs @pickyeater13 @sweetiegirl16 @afyreinjuly @shivispunk @kyloispunk @marisemonteiroo @meetmeatyourworst @joelmillerswife9 @iveseenstrangerthings50 @idrkman @blueberryfruittart @vanishintoyoubby @dlwrish @brittmb115 @xcallmetaniax @umadirectioner @millersweetheart @wildthyng @armandispunk @chick66i @bratty-spicee @am1a-niigo @hopelessromantic727 @styleslfreak @psclcain @susieqorion24 @rxsemarinusx @jandtmillersgirl @fertilise-me @mitskilover88 @lostboys1987girl @begginforthread @pinkangelglitterdusttt @facethepascal @ddiana111 @twilightblogss @cheeseizts @pedrosgirl03 @swimmingnightcolor @gabfromgreedycity @bartzabel4 @blueflowerstranger @madnessofadaydreamer @sadie6sinks6slut @hopelessromantic727 @miramindlesslywriting

[annsfics]

♡ right where i need to be ♡

♡ pairing: michael robinavitch x fem!reader

♡ synopsis: when robby goes on sabbatical, he asks you to watch his house for him. you agree & spend the next two months looking after the space while he's away on his road trip. it's only when he returns & completely latches onto you that you become aware of the feelings he's been harboring for apparent years & find yourself reluctant to tell him no in anything—to the point of lying to protect his feelings—because he's become so unstable.

♡ content: angst, power imbalance, implied age-gap, jealousy (on robby's end), possessiveness, codependency, depression, ideation, emotional coercion, p in v sex, creampie, fingering, nipple play, he has a mommy kink if you squint, robby is a trainwreck & reader is standing on the damn tracks

♡ a/n: inspired by this amazing fic!

"I'll see you next week," Noelle replies with feigned sarcasm, which somehow irks Robby—her presuming to know precisely how he works; that he's that simple and predictable.

She's not the only one tonight, and that's what truly gets under his skin which used to be far thicker.

His eyes flit over the top of her head, and he just catches the sight of the back of yours retreating to the ambulance bay when he does. Forcing a tight-lipped smile, he brushes past her with a quiet, distracted 's'cuse me' before following along in your direction.

Carefully trailing his eyes along the gentle curve of your jaw, the generous swell of your breasts, the soft skin of your dainty hands, and long lashes that brush your cheeks each time you blink, Robby endeavors to commit your every facet to memory. He nearly winces at the thought of never setting eyes on you again, but if he considers that prospect too deeply, he'll never let go.

"Hey," he says quietly while taking a few measured steps forward.

Glancing up from your illuminated phone, you smile warmly before turning to face him. "Hey."

Robby sinks his trembling hands into his pockets. "There's, uh," he glances down to his scuffed boots and gently shrugs. "Something I was wanting to talk to you about."

When his exhausted eyes return to yours, you swiftly lock your phone and tuck it away to grant him your undivided attention.

Is he about to lay into you now as well?

Oh boy...

"I'm all ears," you assure softly. Cautiously.

"While I'm gone, I'd like to have someone housesit for me," he explains. "Just to keep an eye on things. Bring in the mail, make sure nothing stops running in my absence or shorts out. I was hoping maybe that could be you."

At least he isn't ripping into you the way he has so many others tonight. Such as Dana, Abbot, and poor Samira. You caught him glaring at Frank on more than once occasion as well, and on the poor man's first day back, no less.

You still have yet to learn the full story there of what exactly happened ten months ago which sent him on a long vacation from the ED, but maybe it's best you not know; it's none of your concern. He's back to treating patients, and that's what matters.

"Oh," you say in quiet surprise. "Are... Are you sure you wouldn't rather it be Abbot or Noelle?"

His brows furrow and he steps closer. "Noelle?" Robby asks with a slightly quirked head.

"I just thought that the two of you..." Situationship sounds inappropriate, so it's best you not use that adjective, probably. "Seem to have something—"

"Noelle and I are not together," he deadpans. "She's not the one I—" he huffs, shakes his head tiredly while gazing across the empty lot while running a nervous hand down the back of his neck, then returns his attentions to you. "There's nothing there."

You wonder if she knows that.

You'd hoped it would work out for him, in truth—that they'd make a charming couple who'd understand one another's struggles here at work. But wishes hardly ever come true, it seems.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make assumptions," you state with regret.

Robby shakes his head dismissively to intimate that it's alright; no harm done. "It's fine." Contemplating the color of your lips, he continues. "I'd just feel better knowing you're there looking after things for me. It'd help you save on rent for a few months. And if I don't come back, you've got yourself a brand new home."

Your brows knit together. "If you don't come back?" you question with worry.

He purses his lips and shrugs yet again. "Never know. Trying to keep my plans open." Rocking back on his heels, he studies the asphalt beneath his shoes, then steadies while looking at you once again from beneath his lashes. "So, we got a deal?"

He's due to leave very soon. So there's little opportunity for him to make other arrangements if you decline. It's not great that he waited until the literal last minute to begin with, because it indicates—at least to you—that he's not thinking clearly.

You want to ask him to wait until the morning before he takes off—go home, take a shower, make sure you're indeed who he wants to fill this responsibility, and tend to any other loose ends he's yet to tie up before taking such a prolonged sabbatical—but know such pleas would ultimately fall upon deaf ears.

You nod. "We do. It's no problem."

He sighs, and his shoulders loosen when the anxiety of a potential rejection alleviates. "You can follow me over there after our shift ends. I'll give you a tour, list a few rules, and..." his head bobs in an indifferent nod. "We'll talk then."

You rub nervously at your arm. "Alright."

Following along behind Robby's Bonneville, as the miles pass between work and home, a feeling of unexpected dread settles into the pit of your belly.

You know Abbot talked to him shortly before dayshift finally came to a close, and from what you could see from afar, he managed to finally chip past his stony exterior, but it obviously wasn't enough.

You want to make a genuine attempt at getting through to him yourself, but you honestly have no idea what to say to do so. What can you tell him that will convince him to stay his hand, even just a bit longer, which Jack—someone he's known far longer, and is much closer to—hasn't already?

You wouldn't be so worried if he didn't seem like such an utter wreck today. He doesn't even look well. His face is pale, his cheeks appear hollow in just the right light, and his eyes are so...dark and empty.

It scares you.

As you pull up next to Robby's motorcycle, you switch off the engine to your vehicle and watch as he knocks the kickstand of his ride into place before swinging a leg over the side of the stupid deathtrap before waving for you to follow him to the door of his condominium.

You'd assumed that he was a homeowner. Perhaps he still is, though, even if it's a condo that he's residing in. You're not sure how it works, exactly. Not your living situation, though, so you suppose it ultimately doesn't matter.

Popping open the driver's side door, you maneuver yourself out of the vehicle.

You're quiet as Robby leads you from room to room in his spacious abode while he shows you how to work the dishwasher, washing machine, dryer, and even the shower.

You simply nod along because you know that you'll most likely be coming by every other day at best for a handful of minutes to do a quick walkthrough before heading back to yours and Samira's shared apartment. The thought of spending enough time here to require use of a washing machine is unimaginable.

You still fail to understand why you're the chosen person for the job, but nevertheless feel flattered that he hand-picked you for it.

You humor yourself with the thought that it's because you're so very reliable and organized. Robby has always had a bit of a soft-spot for you—favoritism which seemed to increase in fervor as time went on—but you assume it's only because he sees your promising potential as a healthcare provider.

Once he's led you back toward the foyer where the front door lies, he shoves his hands into his pockets and you bristle as he lets his eyes roam freely across you.

"I'll come by at least every other day and bring your mail in for you. And I'll do a walkthrough of the—"

Robby frows and your words drift into silence.

"I want you here," he states softly, but with conviction. "It'll give me peace of mind. So just...live here while I'm away. Since I never set up any of the other rooms for guests, just sleep in my bed," he remarks while nodding behind you, toward the direction where the bedroom lies.

"Wear my clothes if you want, if...if they're more comfortable to for you to lounge around in," Robby mutters with a shrug. "Make yourself at home. Eat what's in the fridge, and contact the building manager if anything needs fixed. As for bills, everything comes out of my checking account automatically. The mortgage, electricity, sewage, trash disposal, water, wi-fi and cable... It's all taken care of."

Samira won't be happy about losing her roommate, but you'll still see each other at work. And you can always come over to visit.

You wonder if he would mind if she did the same here.

Sleeping on the same mattress as him is a surreal thought, but you've never owned a king-size bed before. Might be nice to be able to roll this way and that without fear of falling onto the floor. You'd rather not think of other things he's done in it, though, with... Well, others. Feels wrong to imagine him that way.

So you choose not to.

"Rules?" you ask, since he mentioned such a thing previously.

"No parties, pets, kids... Other men—"

You shake your head. "No worries there, about any of it. It's your home and I fully intend to respect the space you're letting me stay in temporarily."

Robby purses his lips and contemplates for a moment to ensure he's left no stone unturned before he steps out. "Do you have any questions for me?"

You think. "What if something breaks? I can contact the building manager, and I assume they'll have a repairman come, but what if they tell me it needs replaced entirely? Like...the fridge or dryer? Unlikely, I know, but—"

Robby reaches around to his back pocket and unfolds a leather wallet. "Here, take this," he says while holding out a credit card between his index and middle finger. "It's not one I ever use anymore, but if something like that happens, just charge it to it. I'll keep an eye on the account and pay off anything that pops up."

You shuffle forward and slip the thin plastic card from his grasp. "I doubt I'll need it, but I'll put it in my wallet for safekeeping just incase."

"If you need it for gas or groceries, that's fine, too."

You shake your head. "No, Robby, I can—"

"It's the least I can do," he interrupts while glancing to the right, toward a curtained window. "Since you're doing me a favor by keeping an eye on things. It'll give me peace of mind while I'm on the road: knowing you're here, living in my home; sleeping in my bed."

He seems oddly adamant about the last part...

You should analyze that, as well as him telling you to wear his clothes. Perhaps he's just trying to be a good host by ensuring you feel comfortable here, and not like you have to be conscious of so much as moving a dishtowel or salt shaker out of place?

You choose to go with that theory.

"Okay." You'll only use it to restock anything of his that you run out of and need to replenish. Wouldn't feel right to use it for something as simple as a few gallons of gas, which you can afford.

"Make sure to enjoy yourself," Robby murmurs with a forced smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, but does make his crow's feet wrinkle.

"You too," you whisper. "Drive safe, wear your helmet, and pull into a motel or hotel if you start to get tired. Get plenty of rest. And eat—I'm sure there's lots of good diners and food trucks along the way," you say with a soft, reassuring grin. "If you need anything, call Abbot. Or...me. I'll do what I can," you finish with a nod.

You're not sure what exactly, but you figure that you'll cross that bridge if and when you come to it.

Robby's eyes flit between your own, and your heart squeezes with the thought that he's maybe changed his mind. Taking time off from the ED is essential right now, but an almost four thousand mile round trip certainly isn't, in your opinion.

Maybe he can—

Robby advances forward while his footsteps sound across hardwood floors, then suddenly cups the back of your head and presses his lips firmly to your forehead while pulling the rest of you flush against himself.

His grip is iron-tight, and you register the soft swell of his belly that melds against your abdomen, his palm that's splayed across your back, his other which twitches against the base of your skull, and his wiry beard that softly scratches against your skin.

You slide your own arms around his middle after a beat, and gradually tighten your hold after a handful of seconds so the embrace isn't quite so one-sided.

In the ED, Robby's touched you an innumerable amount of times—your shoulders, back, hands, even your cheek once or twice—but you've not deigned to think too much on it, because you always assumed it was just his way of bestowing silent reassurance or praise in way of encouragement.

You're sure that's all it ever was, and that this is just...thanks.

You don't see it, but he squeezes his eyes shut to battle away stinging tears before suddenly releasing you and turning on his heel. "Take care of yourself," he mutters before grabbing his bag and swinging the front door open.

"Y-You too," you squeak before he shuts it behind him.

A moment later, his motorcycle revs to life outside and its headlight casts itself across the living room walls before disappearing entirely.

You don't move until the sound of its purring engine has morphed into silence.

You swallow thickly and shift on your feet while sniffling.

You've never thought of Robby as anything more than a mentor, so you find yourself at a loss when you try to explain the hollow feeling in your chest that his absence has left behind.

"I'm sort of glad he's gone," Samira mumbles from where she's sitting cross-legged on your bed. "Is that bad of me?" she asks while glancing up to where you stand plucking various clothing items from your closet.

"No," you reply while folding and tossing them into your bag. "Of course not. I know he'd been riding you for awhile, and there's no excuse for it. But..." you sigh.

"If you can, try not to take it personally. It was just him lashing out, I think. Samira, you're one of the best doctors I know—not to mention people. Calling you slow? What? Because you bother taking your time, actually listen to your patients, and are diligent in your diagnoses and treatment—unlike most, who've otherwise sold themselves for and to corporate greed, whether they're aware of it or not, by double-booking or rushing through patients? Not that you plan to go into it, but if you were a PCP, I'd want you as mine. And I'm not just saying that because we're best friends and live together."

She's practically beaming by the end of your heartfelt speech.

"Don't take the crap he's said to you to heart. Collins believed in you, Al-Hashimi does, too, as well as Abbot it seems, and so do I. Robby needs to sort out his own issues before he starts harping on anyone else's."

She flops back onto your bed. "What did he say to you exactly before taking off?" she inquires while rolling her head in your direction. "Just curious, since you were the last one to see him."

You shrug. "Not much. Showed me around, laid some ground rules, told me what to do if I had any issues..." You chew your lip for a moment. "He... He told me to make myself at home, obviously, and it's not like there's another one there for me to occupy... He told me more than once: sleep in my bed. Even mentioned something about wearing his clothes so I could be comfortable."

She bolts upright. "I'm sorry, what?"

You consider a thin sweater, then shake your head. It's hot as hell out right now, so you don't imagine you'll be needing it anytime soon. "He might've given me a credit card, too. But only for emergencies. Like if the washer breaks and can't be repaired and a new one has to be delivered instead. That sort of thing."

She bobs her head from side to side in understanding. "I guess I can get that. But... Wearing his clothes?" she asks incredulously.

You opt not to mention the part about him telling you to also use it for gas and groceries. The latter is sort of understandable, but the former not so much, at least in your opinion.

He's just not himself right now, right? Makes sense that on top of acting out of sorts, he's also saying some off-the-wall stuff.

You ball up a ratty old t-shirt and stuff it in your luggage bag. "I won't be."

"It's the fact he said that to begin with," she presses while scooting closer. "It's inappropriate."

You snort. "And me staying in his house isn't?" You raise a brow while refolding a pair of jeans. "Still don't understand why he didn't ask Jack or Noelle instead. Because even if she and him aren't in an established relationship, they had something going on between them. You'd think he'd be begging her to take up space in his home and bed and clothes instead."

"Oh my God," Samira whispers, like realization of something shocking has just overcome her.

"What?" you asked with a raised brow.

Her brown eyes flit to yours. "How do you... You don't even see it, do you?"

You blink absentmindedly. "No, but I assume you're about to tell me whatever it is that I'm apparently blind to."

"He's in love with you," she expresses doubtlessly.

Unable to help yourself, you bark a laugh. "You can't be serious right now. I'm a resident. And he's—"

"Telling you to make yourself at home, giving you his credit card, telling you to bathe in his shower, eat his food, lie in his bed, put on his clothes," she counts off across two hands. "I always sort of questioned all the extra attention he gave you at work, but I guess I get it now."

You shift uncertainly on your feet. "He's just...being a good host."

"But he's not really hosting you if he isn't there, is he?"

Turning your back to her to begin emptying your underthings from your dresser, you shake your head. "I'm sure he'll rekindle things with Noelle once he gets back. It's not like that."

She shakes her head. "Never took you for the clueless type."

You sigh while tucking a bra away into a mesh pocket. "We should've all taken bets on what he'll get up to while away. I say that wherever he's headed, it's to see someone that he's perhaps fallen for."

Or to check out a new job opportunity...

You start in on socks next.

After only two weeks on the road, Robby already feels beat. Then again, he did before he ever planted two wheels upon it.

Lying in a strange motel room in a strange town far from home, he's unable to control the tempest of thoughts that rage in his tired head in the unwelcome silence that encapsulates him. All the patients that died beneath his hands, all the people he loved whom he failed, all the students he should've done better by.

It all started with the first who failed him, he thinks. The catalyst for why his life has fallen apart, or never had a proper chance to become what it should've to begin with.

But he can't think on that right now or he'll...

As always, his thoughts instead drift toward another.

One who's currently warming his bed that he's at least a thousand miles from at present. She's all feminine curves, sweet smiles, and warmth in every spoken word.

It's easier to lose himself in delusional daydreams with her instead of facing the harsh, ugly reality that's collapsing all around him.

It's become prevalent, this habit: when he's driving, eating, taking a piss, even when he's supposed to be sleeping, his mind instead chooses to paint a false picture that's becoming increasingly harder to pull himself out of day-by-day, like quicksand.

He's losing hours to it, but it's so much more soothing than addressing his own self-made problems.

He worries that if he ever finds the strength to go home, that he'll struggle with being able to tell the difference between what's real and what he's willingly imagined as he trails across the Badlands.

If he'd done things differently—been braver and spoken up—perhaps he'd be there with her now. Lying beside her, holding her close to keep her safe and warm while she dreams peacefully in his arms and against his chest... But his time has come and gone for such fanciful romances. He's too old, broken down, and hollowed out now.

He'd be no good for someone like her.

It's why he settles for fantasy instead. It's the closest he'll ever come to actually having her the way he means to.

The reveries can vary. He's become quite adept at storytelling, in truth. In some, he's beside her in the ED, coaching her through every move, every incision, every decision, and the patient never dies. Others—his favored ones—she's at home with him. She greets him at the door with an adoring smile and an affectionate kiss before pulling him inside so that they can have dinner while she listens about his day. Sometimes she works in it, others, she's a quaint housewife with a swollen belly who lives for her husband, and he for her.

And then there are the darker ones where he's buried inside of her—right between her legs—and he loses himself to the feeling of her soft, trembling body lying beneath his own, where she clutches at his chest and arms while whimpering wantonly against his lips. He always finishes inside of her, and she promises him a baby in return.

He's projected so many idealized archetypes and scenarios onto her that when the time finally came to reluctantly say goodbye, he'd been a bit taken aback when she didn't beg him to stay while throwing herself at him with reckless abandon.

She was supposed to react differently. Not bring up another woman that he only half considers an ex. Robby made things clear to Noelle at the beginning that whatever they were doing would be casual—no strings attached or grand expectations had.

She would find no commitment on his end, because he knew that he wanted another, and as long as his heart was held in her unwitting hands, he couldn't give anyone else 100% of himself. So, after almost a couple months, when Noelle started dropping hints that she was desiring more, he broke it off entirely.

Live in my home, sleep in my bed. Why couldn't he have just told her what he really meant?

I love you, I love you, I love you and you alone.

Pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes, he groans in frustration. Did she really have no idea? Why didn't she question further as to why she was his chosen candidate for house sitting? If she had, though, would he have told her?

He's not sure.

He truly is a fool.

Can't have the fairytale—kids and all—if you can't even achieve an erection anymore. Happened once or twice with Noelle, actually.

He preferred to keep his eyes shut during at times because it made imagining easier, but the truth was always right there beneath his hands.

He knows it hurt her feelings; that she blamed herself when he failed to properly perform. Bless her, she even tried to help him, but it somehow made it all the worse instead. Just gave him one more reason to cut it off clean. If you can't please a woman, what's the point?

Rolling onto his side, he tries to sleep.

"Have you heard from him?"

Tucking your stethoscope into your bag, you shake your head and click your locker shut. "I haven't. I'm sorry, Jack. Guessing it's the same for you?"

He shrugs and shakes his head. "I check the fuckin' thing about a dozen times a day, always expecting something. Think after over a half a month I'd get the hint that he doesn't want to reach out or be reached out to, but I clearly haven't."

You slide your backpack onto your shoulders. "You're a worried friend. Nothing wrong with that."

He doesn't tell you about how he keeps Googling 'Buffalo Jump Albany deaths'.

He should've done more to keep Robby in Pittsburgh.

Wrapping his arms around you, he pulls you into a tight hug and gives you a firm squeeze. "Let me know if you do."

You nod. "I will."

It takes about two and a half weeks before you even think to snoop around a bit. Between work, errands, taking care of Robby's space by regularly cleaning and tidying up after yourself, and trying to tend to your own health, the thought of rifling through his sock drawer just didn't register.

After fixing yourself a stir-fry dinner with a small glass of red wine, you had sat on the couch for awhile watching Netflix before you finally got bored with some poorly scripted period drama and switched the TV off in favor of exploring.

You begin where many do: the medicine cabinet. Your hand hovers over the small silver knob which will reveal to you some of Robby's medicinal secrets, and frown slightly. You'd dislike if someone did such a thing to you, but... What he doesn't know also won't hurt him. Just might cause you to see him in a bit of a different light is all.

Pulling the small door with a gleaming mirrored front open, you trail your eyes over mostly predictable finds: shaving cream, a razor, as well as clippers, an assorted box of Band-Aids, triple antibiotic, ibuprofen, a glass bottle of half-empty cologne with a gold cap, wet wipes, and a couple prescriptions are amongst the items within.

Plucking the first orange bottle from the middle shelf, you turn it over to study the label. Buspar 10 MG. You slide the pad of your thumb over his printed name, Michael Robinavitch, and your brows knit together in sympathy.

"Oh, Robby," you whisper before returning it to its rightful place. A pretty basic medication for anxiety, yes, but it nevertheless tugs at your heart to see. Especially since it's here, and not with him like it should instead be.

Grabbing the next one, blood immediately rushes to your cheeks and you nearly toss it back inside with a quiet squeal. Viagra.

Slamming the door back closed, you thoroughly wash your hands, then exit the bathroom and head for the bedroom instead.

Flipping through the clothing that hangs in Robby's closet, you find yourself underwhelmed. Scrubs, scrubs, and more scrubs. Along with a couple three-piece suits which you deign he must look rather sharp in. At the back, though, is a collection of t-shirts. Half of which are just basic, solid colors—black, blue, forest green, grey—but there's also surprisingly some graphic tees, too. You grin as you swipe your fingers over a decal of Led Zeppelin's untitled album. The 4th one which included Stairway to Heaven.

Nearly pulling it from the hanger, you bunch the hem up beneath your nose and inhale, but are met only with hints of detergent instead of him.

You click the door back shut and pad over to the chest of drawers that stands across from the foot of the bed—which doubles as an entertainment center, since he has a small flatscreen on top—and you grip a wooden picture frame and slide it toward you.

Inside is a photo that was taken approximately a year ago in the ED around Christmas. No one is dressed up for it, but you remember that afternoon and how a fresh box of cookies from a local bakery was delivered—their tops complete with designs of Santa, Rudolph, Christmas trees, and snowflakes.

You'd rolled your eyes, then looked at Robby and muttered how you were sorry that there wasn't one with a menorah on it. He'd stared at you, and the look was so intense that your mind short-circuited for a moment as you actually doubted whether you remembered his heritage correctly. He was Jewish, right?

And then he kissed your forehead before biting through a Christmas tree and saying sarcastically that he hoped he wasn't being sacrilegious somehow.

You'd not entirely understood the joke, but laughed anyway.

Studying the photo, you examine all the familiar faces included. Dana, McKay, Langdon, Trinity, Mel, Samira, and many more. But only now do you notice that only one wasn't smiling at the camera lens, but instead was gazing at you with a toothy grin.

Robby.

Pulled flush against his side you'd been, and his hand was wrapped around the crown of your shoulder to keep you close.

Was Samira right after all?

Letting go of the frame, you plop down on the bed and begin to think.

You've known him for a long time now, as you've been at PTMC since you were but a med student. You'd initially tried to get yourself on night shift after your first couple weeks there so that you could have your days to accomplish everything else you were overwhelmed with, but Robby was insistent that you stick with him and that he'd 'see you through thick and thin'. So you did, and to be fair, he hasn't steered you wrong.

His teachings have been invaluable, which you're thankful for, but now you wonder when the relationship shifted from mentor and mentee to something more affectionate—at least on his end.

You want to tell yourself that you're reading too much into it, but all you have to do is look around to know that that's a lie.

With a sigh, you slide over to the head of the bed and pull the top drawer of his nightstand open. A Roku remote greets you, as well as an issue of The New England Journal of Medicine, a small flashlight, and an open box of Trojan condoms.

Size?

Large.

You shove it back closed and stare ahead at the open doorway.

Before tonight, you never imagined him that way: naked and sweaty and writhing on top of a woman.

Now, you can't stop.

With a huff, you begin readying yourself for bed.

It's been an hour and rest still has yet to find you. Counting sheep is fruitless, as is mentally singing yourself old childhood lullabies.

It's because you can't stop the racing thoughts now that you've been bombarded by silence. Thoughts...of just how lonely you truly are. Living with Samira, it was easy to ignore. At work, there was no time to think of anything but the medicine, and at home, you had a friend to always talk to and share things with. But here, in a house too big for just one person to occupy, you're left to take stock of how outside of your roommate, you really don't have anyone else.

So you ponder whether Robby's feelings are returned.

An attraction you've always had towards him, sure, but something even bordering on love? He's...him. Doctor Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch. Chief of the ED at PTMC and a whole lot of man, to boot. He's worldly and wise and steady and capable.

Meanwhile, you're more like a wobbly newborn chick fresh out the egg that has no idea how to even walk some days, let alone carry on with a damn rooster.

Ok, so the analogy is getting a little weird.

Point being that he's lived a life, whereas yours has yet to even form its first greatest hit.

Turning onto your side, you slide your hand across a half empty mattress and fantasize about it being occupied, and what such a thing might entail. What has he considered, you wonder? Shared meals, movie nights on the sofa, and sex right where you lay? Bills and correspondences with both your names printed on the envelope? Matching his and hers coffee mugs hanging from Command hooks in the kitchen?

Just when you think to close your eyes again, your phone lights up, so you grab it from atop the nightstand and check what's just come through.

You sigh with relief when you see that it's the very man occupying your current deliberations.

Everything going ok?

"Thank God," you whisper while making a mental note to text Abbot that Robby has reached out.

It is! Been taking care of the house. I've sorted your mail, too, by the way. Junk mail is set aside incase something piques your interest.

You debated whether to toss fliers for cheaper internet and brochures for a new car wash that just opened up down the street, but figured that was his decision to ultimately make. Perhaps you'll use a Pizza Hut coupon one of these nights.

Thanks.

You raise a brow and begin rethinking everything you were only just ruminating over. Like imagined fondness. Short, straight, and to the—

I meant with you.

Talk about whiplash.

I'm doing okay. Thinking about adopting a cactus. Figured you could use the company once you get back.

Not really a lie, since the lack of any other living thing here sort of depressed you to see after first moving in, so to speak. Not having pets you get for numerous reasons, but even just an air plant could be nice.

Had one before. Overwatered and killed it, but thanks.

How the hell do you overwater a cactus? Something that literally thrives in the desert. Too much of a good thing, you suppose.

Air plant, then.

typing...

Work going alright for you with me gone?

No more talk of flora, apparently.

It is. You're still very missed, though.

typing...

Miss you, too.

Your heart somersaults in your chest. What do you say now?

Thanks? Come back soon? Want a selfie of me in your bed so your replies might become a bit more lively?

Your fingers hover above the keyboard, but before you get a chance to attempt a reply, another message comes buzzing through.

Going to sleep. Talk later.

You reply with a simple Goodnight before doing the same.

It's too fucking ridiculous to ever admit, but the sign for him to finally turn back came in the form of a country song playing on an overhead speaker in a small roadside diner. He forgets the name of the artist, but he sang of being on the road more than home, and how leaving the woman he loved all alone was killing him. How only if he returned could he feel, see, touch, and kiss her anytime he wished. Could place hands upon her bare skin as they slept together.

Robby paid his tab and turned his ass back in the other direction without a second thought.

With him being so far gone, it taking an almost thirty-year-old tune to change his mind about whatever the hell he was doing tracked.

So, here he stands, leaning against the doorway of his bedroom sipping on a cold bottle of Budweiser he found in the fridge while watching you sleep.

A small twinge of disappointment had settled in his chest when he trailed his eyes along one of your bare arms that's thrown across a pillow when he caught sight of the thin strap on your shoulder. Certainly not something of his.

You never bothered using the credit card, either, turns out. Not even for a quick snack at work.

He dislikes the fact.

You stir, then promptly calm and return to breathing evenly.

With a sigh, he turns and heads for the bathroom to take a quick shower.

At least you're in his bed.

Small blessings.

You're groggy and initially unsure of what you think you just felt.

When you slide a hand over to the left side of the bed and your palm meets with that of a soft belly smattered with hair, you jerk your head and hand both back and open your mouth to scream, until Robby swiftly cups your cheek in his hand. "It's me. You're safe. It's just me."

You bury your face in a pillow and groan. "You scared the daylights out of me," you mumble sleepily.

He runs a comforting hand along the curve of your spine. "Sorry. I was trying not to wake you."

This feels natural to him: the two of you in bed in the middle of the night with only a simple exchange of words between you. Like it's habit, almost. Being near you has always came as easy as breathing to him, though.

Just something about your nature.

Resting your cheek back atop the pillow, you gaze at him from beneath drooping lids. "You're back early," you whisper.

He considers for a moment, then slips his hand beneath the hem of the thin camisole you wear and he begins massaging your naked skin.

Something a husband would do for a wife.

"I am."

"Everything go okay?" you ask with a yawn. "Did you make it to the site in Albany?"

He shouldn't really be touching you like this, but his callouses gently scratching against your soft skin feels kind of nice. And you're too tired to tell him to stop.

It's sort of soothing.

Robby nods.

"Everything you hoped it would be?"

He shrugs. "Just a cliff."

You're grateful he chose not to drive off of it. Means he found a reason after all.

"I picked you up a few things," he murmurs. "They're in my bag. I'll give them to you in the morning."

You smile lazily—a sight which causes his cock to twitch unexpectedly. Then again, he was already sporting a semi in the shower due to standing there naked while holding a pink bottle of soap that belonged to you in his hand.

"Is it a keychain or magnet?" you ask with a soft giggle.

He shakes his head and his lip barely twitches into a smile in response. "No. I think more of you than cheap, tacky gifts."

You're certainly intrigued now.

Removing his hand from beneath your top, he cups the back of your head and tenderly strokes the side of your scalp with the pad of his thumb. "Did you miss me?"

You nod. "We all did. Just glad you're back in one piece."

His eyes flit to where the comforter has been pushed down to your hips. "But did you?" he presses.

Your brows merge together. "Of course."

His darkened eyes roam upwards again and settle on your face.

Robby leans in toward you while his large, calloused hand ghosts across your waist before gently gripping your hip and tugging you against his chest.

When his lips meet with yours, his eyes flutter closed and yours widen.

It's almost comical that this moment finally confirms for you that he does indeed have feelings. You would think someone with a degree in medicine would be a bit more perceptive, but apparently not.

When he runs the speared tip of his tongue along your bottom lip, you gently pry your lips apart to grant him entry to your mouth. With patience, Robby savors this first kiss he's desired for so long. His tongue greets your own with quiet passion—first sliding along the slick underside before twisting to meld it against your own.

Lifting his right leg, he plants it over your opposite side, then rolls himself atop you.

With Robby's full weight settled across your body, and his forearms bracketed on either side of your head, it leaves you securely covered in him. Raising an uncertain hand, you cup his cheek and curl your fingertips against his unkempt beard while your other toys with the gold chain that hangs around his neck—its charm of the Star of David resting between your breasts.

It almost feels like something this monumental should've been proceeded by a lengthy conversation first—just out of respect for the weight of this moment—but now isn't the time for talking.

Slipping a hand beneath your top, Robby eases the material past your belly and breasts, and ultimately over your head before he balls it up and tosses it across the room to rid himself of any hindrances toward having you entirely.

Dipping his head, he sucks a nipple into his mouth and groans.

Your back arches off the bed, and Robby plants a palm against the curve of it to keep you impossibly close while switching sides. Dragging the pad of his tongue over your pebbled nipple, he laps at the smooth skin which surrounds it before dragging it between his teeth.

"God, Robby," you sigh while carding your fingers in his tousled brown hair.

"Michael," he mutters with a lift of his head. "Call me Michael when we're like this."

Nibbling his way toward your throat, his hand crests its way past the waist of your panties and he swipes a finger through your slick folds, followed by a rasped 'fuck' uttered from his lips. Shoving off of you, he rests back on his haunches and hooks his fingers under their waistband and tugs. "Lift your hips, sweetheart," he instructs.

You do.

Once you're lain wholly bare before him, you watch as his eyes trail over your every feature and asset with lustful abandon.

"I've wanted this for years," he whispers while kneading your breasts in his hands. "You don't know how long I've waited for you."

Caressing your cheek, Robby grips the side of his briefs and pulls the elastic band below his hip. "Do you want me inside of you?"

Your head is absolutely spinning, and as you survey the generous swell of his belly that now hangs over the waistband of his underwear, you swallow thickly and nod.

A gesture he returns before pushing them down to his knees and removing them.

With his cock only semi-erect, he fists it in his hand while pressing the index and middle fingers of his other against your dripping entrance. Easing them both inside, your knees fall apart in quiet welcome.

Robby doesn't want to bother with a little blue pill tonight. No performance enhancers. Not with you.

Slowly easing his digits between your fluttering walls, he swipes his thumb over your clit and you gasp in response.

He eyes his bedside table fleetingly, but decides against it.

Unless you ask him to use protection, he won't offer. Bare is the way he's always wished for it to be between you.

"Did you ever touch yourself?" he asks. "Here?"

Your eyes slowly open and you grip the pillow beneath your head in either of your hands. "I did."

It had felt wrong with it being his place of rest, but you figured there would be no way for him to know in the end, so it was fine.

He lines himself up against your cunt and swipes the weeping tip of his cock against it, leaving it shimmering and wet from your arousal. "Did you think of me?"

Yes and no.

You found it invigorating that it was Robby's bed you were lying upon and playing with yourself in, but you didn't imagine anything particular while doing so. You just enjoyed the sounds of your own breathy moans and whimpers to get you to your finish.

"Yes."

His cheek twitches and he eases inside of you inch by inch. Slow is his descent as he allows you to adjust to his size. Your walls stretch to accommodate his girth, and he mutters quiet, affectionate praises all the while of how well you're taking him; that he's almost there.

Once he's bottomed out, Robby leans forward and rests his right forearm next to your head while his opposite hand grips your chin, tilts your head to the left, and he plants featherlight kisses along your jawline. "That feel good, sweetheart?" he rumbles while rocking his hips against yours.

You draw in a ragged breath. "Y-yes," you stutter while running your hands up his warm back.

"It's only ever been you," he rasps while running the tip of his nose along your pounding carotid. "You're why I came back."

Turning your face toward him, he grants many slow, open-mouthed kisses which break the silence of night. "Couldn't stand the thought of you here alone," Robby whispers before kissing your cheek.

He draws out his cock until only the tip remains, then eases back in. But gently, for your sake.

You shudder beneath him. "Glad you're home," you whimper.

As is he, because look at what he had waiting.

Perfection.

His forever, if you let yourself be.

He tilts his head back to watch you for awhile as he makes love to your body. Your every mannerism endears him to you even more—something he hadn't thought possible. The way a tiny crease forms between your brows every time his cock fills you, your parted lips which tiny puffs of breath escape from, quiet whines that get caught in your throat, and the way he's so completely surrounded you.

Rolling his hips, you tremulate and sink your nails into his shoulder blades. "Oh, Michael," you mewl against his pec.

His cock quivers inside of you and his breath shudders in his chest.

Robby runs a palm under your thigh and lifts it over his hip. "Tell me," he rustles against your ear. "You're mine."

You're so, so close. Just a little more.

"I am," you sigh.

"Please," he pleads with a wet kiss before twining his fingers between your own and sliding your conjoined hands across smooth white sheets.

You lift your hips and they buck when the coarse patch of hair that rests above his cock brushes against your swollen clit. "I'm yours, Michael," you assure.

His eyes fill with tears, so he buries his face in the curve of your shoulder and groans from behind clenched teeth as his cock spasms between the intimate safety your slick walls provide him with. Spurts of semen coat—he presumes, or, rather, prays—fertile walls, as he empties a part of himself inside of you; all for you to have.

A broken sob breaks on his lips, so he clutches you close to him to try and calm his pattering heart.

Due to his cock spilling against your core, and the feeling of it still continuously twitching, you throw your head back and snap your hips upwards while biting your lower lip in a race toward your own orgasm.

Squeezing your ass cheek in his palm, Robby guides you toward where you want to go and reels back to watch as it happens.

Your lip is drawn between your teeth before you release it entirely in favor of your mouth quirking into a perfect 'O'. Your body gyrates beneath his as your warm walls pulsate around his softening member and you quake beneath his touch. Quiet "Oh, oh, oh My God"s vocalize as soft bursts of light paint themselves across your eyelids.

When you finally calm, Robby doesn't pull out, but instead remains lying on top of you as his cock softens and his cum dribbles out of your pussy and onto what were previously clean sheets.

The two of you stay like that for awhile: him planting kiss after kiss against your damp cheek and you lying still—apart from your right hand running soothingly up and down his left forearm, because the rest of you feels depleted, and like your limbs are now made of wobbly jelly.

When your lids begin to grow heavy and your heart starts to slow is when you blink yourself back awake. "I'm gonna use the bathroom," you whisper while manuevering a leg out from under him.

He grunts quietly in response. "Just come right back to me," Robby murmurs while squeezing your hand.

You nod with a tight-lipped smile before sliding off the bed and padding into the other room.

Once you've peed, squatted in the shower and washed yourself thoroughly between your legs, and panicked for just a moment as to how you could've been stupid enough to have unprotected sex—not to mention allowing him to finish inside of you—you exit the bathroom and watch as Robby throws back the covers for you to rejoin him.

Your mouth waters at the sight of him like this. Naked, his long legs extended toward the foot of the bed, his belly that's covered in dark hair lying against the mattress, and his strong chest which you were nuzzled against only moments ago.

Could he truly be all yours?

You hold up a towel and nod sheepishly toward the mattress. "Should probably put this down. Sheets are kinda...damp."

He scooches to the side and you fan it out across the middle where the two of you will lay, then climb back in beside him again.

Robby doesn't spare a moment before he pulls you flush against his abdomen and throws his limbs back over your own to make sure you don't go anywhere during the night.

Once your mind has calmed again and you're at the pleasant, humming in-between of waking and sleeping, you hear a muttered 'I love you' before drifting off.

When you wake, it's to an empty bed. Something you're actually rather grateful for, since it grants you a bit of time to catch your bearings before you start your day. Splaying your fingers across the mattress, you play and replay every moment from last night in your head.

It all happened so fast, didn't it? One minute, you were asleep, and the next, Robby's cock was buried inside of you without even an ultra-thin condom to keep you safe from any unwanted consequences his semen may bring about.

You should run out and pick up a box of Plan B today.

Last night he'd seemed... Not himself. Somehow worse than when he left. More emotional, maybe? Or detached? Then again, he was utterly exhausted, you're sure. Which is why you're the least bit surprised that he's already up.

You wonder when he'll return to work.

With a sigh, you rise and wince as your muscles strain. Ones you're not exactly used to utilizing were certainly given a bit of a workout not too many hours ago.

Perhaps you'll try and work on doing some squats and lunges today to loosen them up.

When you pad into the kitchen, you're greeted by the sight of Robby leaned back in a chair with a steaming mug of coffee sat before him and a newspaper spread open on the table.

He turns and smiles softly at the vision of you clad in an old Led Zeppelin t-shirt of his that falls to your knees. "Mornin'."

"Morning," you reply shyly.

"Looks good on you," he remarks. "You wear a lot of my stuff while I was gone?"

This makes a first, but you fear that he'd be disappointed to hear as much. "I did. I sort of favored this one," you lie while fingering the soft, cotton hem of it.

He nods. "That makes me happy to hear." He tilts his head back toward the counter behind him. "There's coffee."

You walk over to pour yourself a cup. "Thanks."

Once you've a mug in hand that's drowned in cream and sugar, you pull out a chair and sit to Robby's left while taking idle sips of your caffeinated drink.

Folding the paper back up, he rests an arm atop the table and his other in his lap. "How d'you feel?" he inquires with a slightly tilted head.

Crossing your legs at the ankles, you study him from beneath your lashes. "Good. A little sore," you say with a quiet laugh. "Just...muscles I'm not used to working."

"But a good kind of sore," he replies while searching your eyes with his own. "Right? Sort of," he shrugs, "Reminder of me."

You nod silently and take another sip after blowing on it to cool it down.

"So, should we go ahead and address the elephant in the room?" Robby asks warily.

Your eyes flit to him. "We can."

He scoots his chair closer to you—the legs quietly scraping against polished hardwood—and loosely hangs an arm off the table while folding his hands. "I thought it was perfect; everything I hoped it would be."

You wonder if he's thought about it a great deal.

"It felt like..." he purses his lips and glances away, toward the living room. "Something finally falling into place." Looking at you again, he listens earnestly. "Did you feel it, too?"

It'd felt wonderful, of course. Robby had taken his time in being slow and sensual so that he could savor every moment, thrust, and kiss, but you're not sure that you felt some magical awakening when he sank between your thighs.

It takes a handful seconds for Robby's features to gradually shift into that of unease and worry, though, so you swiftly reach forward and pry his hands apart so that you can squeeze his fingertips reassuringly. "I did feel it. I wasn't...sure if you did."

He exhales in relief and you feel a twinge of guilt for giving him false sentiments.

"It seemed right somehow: having you in my bed. Being inside of you." He leans back again and your muscles suddenly loosen. "It's why I returned a month early."

He shakes his head. "Thinking of you here all alone got to me." Shifting in his seat, he sucks on his teeth. "I didn't like it. But now that I'm back..." Robby reaches forward and cups your cheek. "You don't need to worry about leaving. I mean, you're half moved in already. So just stay here for awhile longer. And if things progress the way I hope they will, then it can become a permanent thing."

Your brows furrow and you open your mouth to question him, but your words fizzle into silence when he stands. "I'll go get your gifts."

A couple paper bags are set on the table before you, which you slowly rifle through. Truth is, you want to rip them open like an excited kid on Christmas Day, but are trying to be an adult about it.

Your first find is a plush stuffed buffalo with fluffy brown fur and glass eyes, which causes you to grin and giggle. "He's very handsome," you state before setting him to the side with an affectionate pat on the head.

Robby smiles softly and cups the back of your head which he gently kneads with his fingertips as you go through the rest of it. Next is a snow globe which you turn back to him for explanation over.

"It's the heritage site," Robby clarifies with a nod toward it.

"Oh," you chirp with surprise. You shake the glass bulb and watch as white flakes swirl around. "Now I get to see it in winter."

He presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

Next is a non-fiction book titled Ancient Alberta.

"Figured we could put it on the bookshelf in the living room," Robby states. "I wasn't sure if you much cared for history."

"I do," you reply in confirmation.

Lastly is a long black box that's not quite the length of your forearm. Prying is carefully open, you gasp at what lies inside: a beautiful necklace comprised of brilliant white and brown beads. "Oh, Robby, this is lovely," you murmur while tracing it with your fingertips.

"So you like all of it?" he inquires warily.

Rising from your chair, you wrap your arms around his neck and stand on tiptoes. "I do," you say with a kiss.

That night as you make dinner, you study Robby from afar. You've done a lot of that today: staring. More so because he somehow seems worse than when he left. His face is more gaunt, but at least he seems to have gotten some sun on the road, and now has a healthy golden tan going for him. His belly has receded just a little, but since he's asked you to continue staying here, you'll have him fattened back up in no time.

After all, when you cooked him breakfast, he cleaned every bite of syrupy pancake from his plate.

That made you happy to see.

He's not as chatty as he once was some time ago—his words are more measured and to the point now—but maybe he's just tired.

Lounged back on the far end of the sectional, Robby is currently thumbing through the book he purchased at the heritage site's gift shop. You admire the glasses perched upon his long nose and smirk. You feel quite domesticated today playing house with him.

You haven't done much digging into the things he said, however. Like about things 'falling into place', and his 'hopes for the future', or how you're fairly sure he uttered those three little words last night as you were just drifting off to sleep.

You care for Robby—deeply—but you don't know that it's love, exactly.

You're afraid that if he says it again, however, you'll return the sentiment because the last thing you want to do is make him unhappy. Not after all he's been through.

It's why you've tried to make the house a peaceful environment for him today. You took the liberty of changing the bed sheets and doing a couple loads of laundry, as well as unpacking his things for him. It kept you busy at least. Folding his underwear and hanging his belts back up in the closet had caused your cheeks to warm, but if you didn't, he probably wouldn't have himself.

It's a dreamlike experience being here while he is. Two months ago, Robby was an attending you conversed with and aided on the daily, but aside from the occasional embrace, things never went further.

Now...

"Dinner's ready," you chime from the table you've just set respective steaming plates of steak upon.

Dog-earing the current page he's reading through, Robby rises with palms planted against old knees to join you.

He's surprisingly cuddly.

You're learning much about him today, turns out.

"Oh, shit," you hiss before snatching your phone from the back of the couch.

"Somethin' wrong?" he questions from where his head currently lies between your breasts.

"I forgot to run out and pick up Plan B today," you explain while bringing up the Postmates app.

He bristles. "Do you need it?"

Your eyes flit to the crown of his head, and he tightens his arms around your waist while staring ahead at the TV. "I mean, I'm on something, but I'd rather be safe than sorry."

His jaw ticks. This isn't how he imagined you would be—that you would want to prevent your womb from quickening. It's unwelcomely breaking the fantasy he's painted in his head.

He shrugs casually. "I always thought you were exceptionally maternal. Not saying you shouldn't order it, just an observation."

You want to tell him to just shoot where he's aiming, but don't think you're entirely keen on opening such a horrific can of worms after a long day such as this one. It'd be better for you if you did, but...

You lock your phone and tuck it back away, deigning that you'll do it tomorrow, either before or after work.

After a moment, Robby raises his head and kisses you softly while yanking at your hips to bring you beneath him.

When he shoves a hand beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, you also spread your legs, as if on instinct.

You once again don't mention a condom.

Stupid.

Robby plans to remain off work for a few more days, but insisted on driving you today. So much for a pharmacy run. Perhaps you'll venture up to obstetrics today and see if they can give you what you're looking for.

With your hand held tightly in his the whole way there, only the radio playing quietly in the background interrupts the hum of the engine and the wheels beneath you.

When a rather twangy tune enters the truck stereo, Robby smirks and turns the dial up a few notches. "Like fuckin' fate," he drawls. "This is the song that made me decide to head back. Heard it one morning and just," he shrugs a shoulder, "Made a choice."

It's a song you know—Gary Allan.

All this leavin' her alone is killin' me.

Your forehead creases and your nose stings.

I can feel her skin against me when I sleep.

You glance to Robby and admire the soft smile that's now spread across his lips.

Where I won't miss her, I can kiss her anytime that I want to.

You cup the back of his head.

'Cause I've finally got all my priorities in line, and I'm right where I need to be.

It's so incredibly silly because it's a little country song that came out at least twenty-something-years-ago, but it's like the singer is providing a voice for the thoughts in Robby's head. His feelings. He drove how many hundreds, if not thousands of miles to race back just to be with you?

"I want to stay," you state then, with certainty. "At home. With you."

Raising your hand toward his lips, he presses a firm kiss to the back of it before resting your entwined arms on the center console.

Your chin wobbles when you see him swipe an unbidden tear from his weathered, freckled cheek.

"I'll be here to pick you up after shift," Robby informs you as you gather your things.

"Alright. Thank you." You lean across the cabin and cup his cheek before planting a soft kiss upon his lips.

Once you've exited the truck and are standing between the driver's side door where Robby sits and the glass doors of the ED, he calls to you.

Turning back to him, you await with a raised brow to hear what he has to say. "Text me if shift runs over."

You nod. "I will."

He rests an arm upon the windowsill and plants the pad of his thumb against his chin while studying you with quiet adoration. "I love you."

Your stomach squeezes uncomfortably and you find yourself at a loss for words.

Why did he have to do this so soon?

He clears his throat and shifts in his seat while hanging a wrist over the wheel and glancing ahead, then back to you.

You allow a smile to bloom upon your lips, as if you're only just registering his romantic admittance. You take a couple small steps toward him. "I love you, too," you reply with a lilted tone of surprise.

Why're you doing this to yourself? Have you always been such a people-pleaser?

He chuckles and hangs his head with a happy grin. "Glad to hear it."

"Is he back?" Jack asks insistently while following you to your locker.

"As of a couple nights ago."

"You never texted me," he retorts with crossed arms.

"I know, I'm sorry." Popping open the small door in front of you, you hang your backpack from a silver hook. "I meant to, but got distracted."

"Well," he begins with a shrug. "How is he? He seem to be doing better?"

Clicking it shut, you wrap your stethoscope around your neck and hold fast to each end of it. Yes? No? "Too soon to tell."

Seems a safe enough answer.

He raises a brow and plants his feet in quiet expectance of elaboration.

"He's done a lot of driving, Jack. I think he just needs a few days to rest up from... Whatever the motorcycle equivalent is of jet lag. He needs to be able to catch his bearings, and Robby will be back here soon enough, I'm sure."

He sighs while scrubbing a hand down his face. "He say anything to you to let on how he's doing after his sabbatical?"

You mean while he was fucking me in his bed, or came inside me again on the couch last night? He's been communicating in other ways, Abbot.

You need to run up to OB before your shift starts to take a much needed pill.

"Well," you drawl while skirting past him. "He still has a month left technically, so it's not over yet."

"Just answer the damn question," he spits while trailing you to the elevator.

You huff in exasperation. "He hasn't really talked much about his state of mind, no."

"I mean, did you just take off back to your and Samira's once he got in, or did you have a chance to sort of—"

"Observe him?" you ask with a raised brow while pressing the button that will take you up.

He stays silent.

"I guess you'll just have to wait and ask him yourself how he's doing." Saved by the bell, stainless steel doors spread apart and a couple people exit before you step inside.

"Where're you headed?" Jack questions while crossing his arms.

"Just something I need to see to."

You watch him shake his head as they close.

Robby's return to the ED is two weeks later. You try to keep an eye on him, as does Jack—since he chooses to hang over for a couple hours so that he can try and get a conversation in with his friend—but he otherwise seems... Okay, you think.

Maybe not great, but functional. Better than he was a few nights ago when you awoke to the sight of him hunched over the side of the bed with his head held in his hands while he quietly wept.

You'd promptly crawled into his lap, wrapped yourself around him, held him incredibly close, and rocked him in your arms like a mother would her baby while showering him in soft kisses and comforting words of reassurance that everything would be okay.

He never did tell you what had him so tore up, but instead fell asleep with your breast in his mouth while you sang him a lullaby. You were just glad he managed to rest for the remainder of the night.

Robby starts off strong with a coding patient straight off an ambulance that he pulls you in for, to which Abbot accompanies, and he runs the entire trauma room operation from start to finish without impediment.

His keeping you close isn't just a one-time occurrence, though. It's every single case, much to the frustration of a few others when he barges into this exam room or that trauma bay to steal you away, saying he needs you more than they do.

You were elbow-deep in someone's chest cavity at one point and trying to keep a level tone while insisting that you cannot just come because he orders you to when he lost his temper and shouted that as your attending, he wasn't asking, but telling.

Jack thankfully barged in and pulled him out for a private conversation, while you returned to your patient.

"What's going on with you, man? First day back and you're acting like unless you have her strapped to your side that you can't function in there."

Back to the fucking ambulance bay again. Robby should've known he was in for another goddamn lecture the second Jack started leading him in this direction.

"Just trying to teach my resident," he replies with a shrug and hands slid into his back pockets.

"Is she..." He crosses his arms and takes a step forward. "Is she still living with you?"

Robby shakes his head dismissively. "Hardly see how that's of concern to anyone but us."

He wonders a bit more seriously now as to what that trip up to OB was all about a couple weeks past, and if it had anything to do with the man standing in front of him now. "So in other words: yes," he retorts.

Robby purses his lips and narrows his eyes while shrugging. "We done here?"

"What do you think, Robby? That keeping her around is going to solve whatever's gone wrong? The road trip clearly wasn't the solution. Brother, I'm—"

Folding his hands behind his head, he arches his back and groans. "Why don't you try minding your own fucking business?" he growls while leveling him with a malicious glare.

Abbot stumbles back a step and hurt flashes across his wounded features.

Robby sighs and runs his hands down his face while opening his mouth then shutting it again. "I'm sorry," he mutters in apology. "I just don't have time for this right now, alright? I need to get back in there."

"I'm concerned," he says, trying again. "The last couple weeks, I thought she seemed different—off somehow. If you lay all your baggage at her feet and expect her to unpack, or—or solve all your problems for you, or be some ultimate God-given solution... How long before she's exactly where you're standing?"

With brows drawn together and creases folded across his forehead, Robby's attention flits back to the ED. "We're fine. She's fine. Y/N is a big girl, and is more than capable of telling me how she feels." He takes a step back. "Listen, after..." he sighs. "Maybe while I was gone you got a little close to her. Thought something was there that wasn't. After losing your wife—"

"This has nothing to do with my wife," he spits while nervously twisting his wedding band.

Robby nods and half turns away. "She's with me now," he states. "So just... Keep that in mind going forward."

Jack watches him walk away.

Just across from the computer station, Robby observes Frank conversing with you.

He's in the middle of tugging off a pair of gloves when he feels his body grow cold all over at the sight of the pair of you looking at one another. It's just casual conversation, he's sure, but how can he be certain of it?

Somehow, the only place that Robby feels whatever bond he's forming with you is safe is when he's with you in bed. When his limbs are lying heavy atop your own and his cock is softening inside of you after finishing into a condom—no, he's not pleased that you insist on using them, but either he does, or you stop making love altogether—and for a fleeting moment, everything else fades away.

He can't be left again. He can't...lose you.

But you promised him, the day he divulged his mother's abandonment to you, that you were here to stay.

You'd pressed his head close to your heart and carded your fingers in his hair while he quietly cried, despite trying to choke it down for your benefit.

He exhales and throws the gloves away before seeing to another patient.

"You doing alright?" Robby asks while sidling up next to where you stand at a computer cart.

You nod while typing. "I am."

He chews the inside of his cheek for a moment. "Are we okay?" he questions hesitantly

You jerk your head to the side and gaze into Robby's troubled, glassy eyes. "Of course. Why would you ask that?"

He shrugs nonchalantly. "Saw you talking with Langdon earlier and I got worried. Been away from here for awhile, so—"

Your brows furrow. "He's married, Robby. With two little ones. We had a patient a couple hours ago that we worked on together, and since I was already at a computer, he asked if I could check on him in the system. He's upstairs and resting now," you finish with a small smile.

He sighs. "I'm sorry. Just me being—" Insecure in his old age? "I'm sorry, sweetheart."

You sign out of the desktop. "It's okay, sweetie."

You're unsure if you truly mean that.

"Knew you'd come back early," Noelle states with a laugh and slender, folded arms.

"Just two weeks," Robby replies while finishing up some charting at the same cart you made use of earlier in the day.

"Still," she states with a cocked head. "May I ask what brought you back before your sabbatical's end?"

He raises a shoulder. "Just had someone at home which I didn't like the idea of being there alone."

Her manicured brows furrow and she leans back to study him. "Last I checked, you were at least half single before you left. Don't remember you having any housemates."

Robby continues tapping away on the keyboard.

"May I ask whom?"

He considers for a moment.

He's already caught shit from Abbot, and with your shared shift nearly at its end, he just wants to walk out of here in half-decent shape. Not pissed off now that he's finally cooled down after twelve hours.

He glances toward the computer station where you're seated yet again and nods.

Noelle turns and almost snorts when she spots you. Turning back to him, it's with raised brows and wide eyes of incredulity. "Robby, you cannot be serious. She's a kid. Not to mention a resident."

He signs out of the desktop. "She's woman enough, trust me." Stepping past her, he mumbles "And all I need" before coming to join you.

Observing from afar, she watches as he seats himself next you and cups the back of your head while staring at you with unabashed adoration and warmth—like you hung the moon and dotted the sky with stars.

You giggle, say something she can't discern, and he grins while rolling his shoulders.

But she does make out his reply: I love you.

With a roll of her eyes, she makes a beeline for the elevators.

"I can't concentrate on charting if you're staring at me, Michael."

He grins. "Can't help it. Just hard to believe that you're real sometimes." Robby massages the back of your neck. "And finally mine."

He slides a hand between your thighs while mentally making plans for tonight once you're alone together. Perhaps a talk should be had soon about getting you off birth control so the two of you can start trying for the baby he's always wanted.

Maternal as you are with...patients, he knows you'd be an ideal mother.

"Don't know what I'd do without you now." He shrugs. "Don't like to think about it, anyway."

You give his hand a squeeze and shift in your seat. "I'm right here, Robby." You look at him. "I'm not going anywhere."

He kisses your cheek. "I know."

"I can carry that."

You slide the straps of your backpack onto your shoulders and shake your head. "It's okay, I got it. You already have one."

Robby extends his hand then, and you twine your fingers tightly between his and hold firmly to his arm. Navigating your way through Chairs always gives you anxiety, so now having him to shield you from impatiently waiting individuals who're likely to ambush you and demand an ETA on when they'll be seen is a relief.

Just as he opens the door that'll lead you toward the perpetually crowded space, you glance over your shoulder and still at the sight of Abbot watching the two of you leave.

When your eyes meets his, his face crumples at the sight of you so intimately attached to Robby's side, but the exchange is cut short when he pulls you along beside him to take you home.

The door swings shut behind you, leaving Jack behind.

[loves-alibi]

You are Jack and Robby's midlife crisis. (f!reader) (based on this request)

It's incredibly stupid, hitting middle age and getting a (much) younger girlfriend, but Jack and Robby managed to fall into the trap. To their credit, they're already married, and it's not just about the sex. Though, the sex is a plus. A pretty big one, too.

No, no, they love you plenty, their sweet younger girlfriend, even though half the time your mere presence is enough to have them feeling lots of awful things about their age. Take now, for instance.

Jack and Robby just got in from their flight, hours of exhausting travel from the medical conference weighing heavily on their shoulders.

They asked you to housesit when they were gone. It was a perfect setup. You checked up on the plants and got to sleep in their bed so you didn't miss them too much, and Jack and Robby got to come home to their girlfriend sleeping in their bed.

More specifically, they get to come home to their girlfriend sleeping in their bed in only a thong.

"Jesus," Jack hisses. He's staring at your cunt, barely hidden by the thin lace. "This is what we get if she moves in?"

"I hope so," Robby says. His eyes are on your tits, exposed to the cool air that pebbles your nipples. "Do we wake her?"

Jack's already lowering himself to the bed, resting his crutches against his nightstand. "Fuck no," he snorts, slinging an arm over the span of your hips. "Never look a gift horse in the mouth."

Robby doesn't have to be told twice. He strips off his clothes, climbing into bed wearing little more than you. Unlike Jack, Robby tucks his face in your neck, letting his hand rest on your ribs, his thumb brushing the underside of your breasts.

"Jack," Robby mutters with his lips against your skin, "Are we in over our heads?"

His husband snorts, "Brother, we have been for a while. Just enjoy it."

[talaok]

Caught

Pairing: Dr. Robinavitch x f!reader x Dr. Abbot

Summary: Robby comes home early from his sabbatical to find you, the resident neither he nor Jack were supposed to touch, fucking the night’s shift attending.

Warnings: age gap, implied power-imbalance Smut| getting caught, unprotected p in v sex, creampie(s), voyerism, pet-names for reader, praising, Dr. Michael ‘monster cock’ Robinavitch.

“Jesus Christ”

You were on your attending’s lap, busy riding the man, completely naked, sweaty, and flushed, when Dr. Robby opened the door.

“This isn’t exactly what I imagined when I asked you to house sit for me.”

Your mouth was open in a gasp, eyes wide with mortification as you froze from embarrassment.

Dr. Robinavitch had just caught you fucking Dr. Abbot... on his couch.

“Brother” Jack grinned as he looked behind him, not even a little fazed at the interruption. “You came back early.”

You could feel your face setting on fire as you desperately tried to think of what to do.

Robby’s eyes weren’t on you anymore as he got rid of his jacket and boots… this would be the perfect time to get up and scurry away towards the bedroom… Robby’s bedroom— Shit.

Your hands went to cover your bare tits as you tried to come up with something else.

“Decided to cut my sabbatical short,” Robby was explaining, “You all were right- as it turns out, I can’t go more than a month without the ED.”

You heard and felt Jack’s snicker, his fingers absentmindedly drawing circles where he still held your waist.

His hard cock was still deep inside you, and as much as you hated having to depart from it, you really needed to get off and try to at least regain some decency.

Which is what you tried to do. You began rising from Jack’s lap, but in an instant, his eyes were on you, his brows furrowed.

“Where you going, sweetheart?”

He can’t be serious right now.

You glanced pointedly at Robby behind him, your voice barely a whisper as you murmured his name.

“It’s alright, honey, Robby doesn’t mind,” he spoke softly, his hands caressing you softly. “Do you, Robby?”

Robby’s soft chuckle came from somewhere closer than where he’d previously been.

“I sure don’t,” He was smirking once you slowly raised your gaze.

He’d walked to the edge of the couch, right behind Jack.

You felt your face burn with embarrassment- and yet your pussy clenched harder around Abbot as you caught Michael’s eyes drink you in.

“We were having such a good time,” Jack murmured, his mouth on your collarbones as he pecked your skin, “Would be a shame to stop now.”

Oh God, he was being serious.

“Jack- I-”

Were you dreaming? Was this one of the sick fantasies that materialized in your mind whenever Robby and Abbot were both on shift, and you had to squeeze your tights together at how incredibly hot of a pair they made?

Everything seemed to point in that direction, except for the fact that the feel of Jack’s fingers removing your hands from your naked chest was very much real- the same went for Robby’s voice.

“You know, sweetheart... we had a talk about you before I went away.”

You were bare again now, and Jack was making use of the space, filling it with delicious, taunting kisses as Michael spoke.

“Decided none of us were gonna try anything... didn’t wanna take advantage of you or anything….” His voice was rough and soft all at once as his hand went to cradle your cheek, “and now look at that.”

Heat bloomed low in your belly and on your cheeks as you heard yourself whimper.

What he was saying was… unbelievable. They liked you- both of them. Just as you liked them.

This was really happening- Dr. Robinavitch was watching you as you sat on Dr. Abbot’s cock. And they both looked incredibly casual, as if this were a daily occurrence.

“Since when has this been going on?”

When you didn’t answer, Jack stopped his ministrations on your neck to speak, “Just two weeks, man.”

“Is he lying to me?” Robby asked you, his head tilted in doubt.

“N-no,” You murmured as you cowered under his stare.

To that, he smirked, shaking his head as he muttered, “A week- that’s how long you lasted.”

“C’mon, man- you knew it was bound to happen.” Jack groaned, looking at you with a smirk as his mouth ghosted yours, “You’re too pretty not to do something about it.”

You felt your heart skip, and your hips involuntarily grind against Jack’s lap- causing you to whimper pathetically.

“Oh sweetheart…” Abbot cooed, his hands going back to rest on your hips, “Go on, take what you need.”

There was nothing you wanted to do more. As unusual as this situation was, you were so turned on that you feared you’d start dripping on the couch any second now.

Yet you watched the two men uncertainly, biting your lip as you went against your instinct to use Jack’s manhood to feel good.

“Go on, baby,” Robby encouraged you once your eyes settled on him, “Do as he said.”

His palm was still on your cheek, his thumb pulling on your lower lip to free it from your teeth’s grip… and you had no choice but to obey.

You started slow, shily grinding onto him, feeling Jack’s dick graze and reach all those sweet spots inside of you as your clit rubbed against his base.

Your mouth hung open as soft whines filtered through your throat. Robby’s hands held your face so you could only look at him- and the look in his eyes… the darkness in his iris and the locking of his jaw gave you all the more incentive to go faster.

You began raising yourself on Jack’s dick just to slide back down again until you found the delicious pace from before your interruption.

Your moans weren’t so quiet anymore as you struggled to keep your eyes open and gripped Jack’s shoulders for dear life, your nails probably leaving crescent moons on his skin.

“So good for me, baby,” Jack murmured against your neck, resuming his kisses on your salty skin as he thoroughly enjoyed the show. “Such a good girl.”

You cried like a desperate little thing at that, his dick hitting that spongy spot inside of you that had you feeling on cloud nine.

“Jack feels good, baby?” Robby’s voice felt muffled, as if the pleasure was acting as a sound shield.

“Y-yes,” You whined, your voice breathless, your movements more and more desperate, “B-big,” you cried brokenly.

You felt Abbot’s growl vibrate against your chest at that, and seconds later, you felt his mouth against your ear as he whispered loud enough for Robby to hear, “You’ve seen nothing yet.”

You didn’t have the brain capacity to understand what he meant by that, or to analyze the grin that spread Michael’s lips at those words, because all you could focus on was the growing sensation that sparked in your belly.

“Oh my god,” You whined, your thighs burning with the effort as the sound of your skin slapping with Jack’s echoed against the walls.

“It’s ok, baby,” Robby murmured, watching closely as your eyes almost closed and your brows furrowed in bliss, “You’re doing so good.”

You didn’t even realize you were doing it, but as Robby guided his thumb into your mouth, instinctually, your lips closed around it, sucking him in further.

“That’s it, baby,” he nodded, the weight of his finger on your tongue making you wish it was replaced by his cock. And that image… that image made your orgasm approach even faster.

Your moans were silenced by Robby’s thumb, but Jack could feel your walls gripping him like a vice.

“Let go, sweetheart,” he commanded, kissing the spot right beneath your ear. “Be a good girl and show Robby how pretty you look when you come.”

That was it.

You didn’t even have time to mentally prepare yourself that a bright white flash of pure ecstasy overtook your soul.

You came like the world would end tomorrow, your pussy spasming around Jack as he couldn’t help but follow suit.

Somewhere in the frenzy, you could hear Abbot’s groans while Robby murmured what appeared to be soft words to you, his hand never leaving your face.

The pounding of your heart thumped in your ears as you tried to calm your breathing.

Your eyes fluttered open to both the men looking at you, Jack’s eyes soft with gratification and adoration, while Robby’s irises swirled with lust and just plain need.

“You wanna switch?”

Jack’s words didn’t even make sense to you. You were still lost in the haze of what had just happened.

“Not on the couch, man.” Robby shook his head, his lips pulling into a small smile as he watched you. “Let’s get on the bed, baby.”

__ __  __

Your legs felt like jelly as Robby towered over you.

You knew what was happening, and yet your brain was still buffering.

His lips were so close to yours… just a few inches and you’d be kissing him.

But that’s not what he had in mind.

“Lay down for me, baby.”

You blinked, needing a second to understand his command and do as told.

The mattress was soft, the comfy duvet wrinkling underneath you as you laid back, your wide eyes watching him.

With a quick move, he removed his shirt, throwing it behind him… in the direction of Abbot.

Your breath hitched at the sight of him leaning against the wall, his eyes dark as he watched the scene unfold.

By the time you looked back, Robby was naked- and your lungs took another toll.

You were propped on your elbows, shamelessly eying all of him. His broad chest, the dark hair on his pecs, on his belly, until your gaze lowered just enough to catch his cock-

You were pretty sure you’d stopped breathing completely.

That’s what they’d been talking about.

You really had seen nothing yet.

You swallowed dryly as his big hand wrapped around his dick, giving it two slow strokes that had him seemingly grow even more.

Your eyes were wide as he stalked closer to you, his smirk everlasting.

“R-Robby,” you stuttered, clearly intimidated.

“’S alright, baby. I’ll go real slow.”

“I-I- How…”

“Don’t worry about it,” he shook his head, “spread your legs for me, baby.”

And even if your heart was going crazy and your brain was telling you that was an impossible fit, you did as told.

“Wider.”

You slid your feet further across the bed, opening yourself up to him completely, eliciting a delighted groan.

“Pretty,” he murmured, his palm going to your mound and his thumb moving to your folds, exploring slowly.

Jack’s come was still leaking out of you, creating a sultry mixture with your own juices.

Your cheeks heated at his unabashed gaze, but then his other hand grabbed the base of his manhood, his tip suddenly parting your folds, and all thoughts left your head.

You were whimpering already, still sensitive from your previous orgasm, and Michael would have done anything to record those sweet sounds and listen to them on repeat all day long.

“It’s ok, baby, relax for me.” That’s all he murmured, as he started guiding his impossibly thick tip inside of you.

“Oh!” You gasped, your eyes wide open as you watched him thrust into you.

He was looking at where your bodies melted into one another, watching your greedy pussy swallow him in.

The stretch burned at first- he had the biggest cock you’d ever seen after all- counting porn- but his soft growls and groans were making you all the more pliant.

His thumb started circling your clit to help you out as broken cries fled your throat.

He was retracting his hips just to thrust softly into you, over and over again, filling you up inch by never-ending inch.

“O-Oh my god,” You were crying, your hands fisting the sheets as he kept going.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he reassured you, his free hand tight on our waist. “Stretching so good for me- such a good girl.”

Your walls tightened around him at that, causing him to hiss.

“Let me in- just like that… good girl”

You knew the moment he was in to the hilt, because you could barely breathe at the feeling of how unbelievably full you felt.

Breathy gasps spilled from your lips as your gazes met.

“Told you you could do it,” he smirked, before he started to move.

The moan you let out at the first full, deep thrust was more of a scream.

“Robby!” you gasped, your fingers gripping his forearm as he started building his pace.

His back hurt like a motherfucker from all those hours on his bike, but he’ll be damned if he denied himself this sight.

“He always makes you do all the work?”

How his voice was still so even when you could barely breathe, let alone think, was a mystery.

You want to tell him the truth, that no, Jack was usually very much adamant in his need to take care of you, to pin you beneath him and fuck you thoroughly well into the day… but all you could manage was a whine.

You watched his lips pull into a grin at the state he’d rendered you in.

“Oh, c’mon, brother, I’ve just come back from a twelve-hour shift,” Jack defended himself from his spot against the wall as your eyes found him.

You could see from the bed, even with his boxers back on, that he was hard again.

God, this was all so hot.

The way both their eyes were only focused on you as Robby’s thrusts had you bouncing up on the bed, your tits moving in tandem with his harsh movements…

“And she hasn’t?” Robby raised his brows, shooting Jack a quick, disappointed look, before coming back to you.

“You don’t have to worry about it now, baby,” he spoke softly, the thumb he still had on your bundle of nerves resuming its torturous movements. “I’ll take care of you like you deserve from now on.”

You felt butterflies in your stomach at those words.

Your hips were chasing his movements, forcing the loud smacking of his skin hitting your core over and over again to get even louder.

You could feel every inch of his dick inside you, every vein and ridge slide against your velvety walls as his tip speared you and reached parts of you no one ever could find but him.

And with a feeling like that… it was inevitable for tears to gather in your eyes, your vision blurring as a knot of pleasure tightened inside you.

“Oh baby, I know it’s a lot.” his voice was calming, soothing your overexited system.

It was a lot. He was a whole damn lot.

“Just take it,” he cooed, “Don’t think about it, sugar, just be good for me and Jack, yeah?”

You slowly nodded, tears rolling down your temples and onto the sheets as the air filled with your moans.

“That’s it, pretty girl— that’s it.”

And suddenly, it was all too much.

“I-I- Oh my-”

He groaned at how tight you got. His chest inflating with the effort not to come on the spot.

“Let go, baby,” he instructed. “Be a good girl and come for me.”

The last thing you saw was his smile; everything after that was sort of a blur.

A tidal wave of pleasure washed over your body; you were pretty sure you were moaning his name like a prayer as you experienced a mind-blowing orgasm.

Your eyes and ears started functioning again as Robby’s thrusts got sloppier, more erratic.

He grinned as you whimpered at the overstimulation, his groans getting louder as he got closer, until he spilled inside you with a feral roar.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed after several moments, slowly pulling out of you.

Jack had gotten beside him somewhere in the meantime, and both men’s eyes fell to the release spilling out of your spent core.

“C’mere,” you whined, breaking them out of their amazed trance.

They both smiled, and it was Jack who joined you on the bed first, moving you so your head could rest on the pillow as he spooned you, wrapping his arms around you.

“You did real good, sweetheart,” he murmured to your ear, his stubble grazing your skin as your eyes fluttered shut.

You were exhausted.

You didn’t even hear Robby lying down next to you until he placed your head to rest on his chest.

“So… am I gonna have to sanitize every surface of the house?”

A soft laugh fled your throat as Jack grinned amusedly.

“The kitchen should be saf—” The look you sent Jack had him suddenly remember all the alternative meals he’d consumed on the kitchen counter. “No, yeah… the whole apartment.”

“Jesus Christ.”

[anxietyobsessedyetdepressed]

Cruise

WC: 7.6K

Summary: What was supposed to start as the happiest day of your life ends with being the worst and to top things off you're stuck with your dad's good friend for a little over a week where understandings are made and a line is crossed, leaving you both to make a choice

Warnings: insecurities, age gap (reader is like late 20’s) taboo-ish relationship (reader is daughter of Robby's good friend)

AN: This is a longer one ! I hope you guys enjoy and let me know what you think ! Any feedback is encouraged whether it's a comment, an ask or reblog with some tags ! Likes are amazing too but interaction is what makes us writers happy 💙

The first sign something was wrong was the silence. It wasn’t the peaceful kind but the horrible kind that gave you the worst kind of feeling in your stomach. The kind that settled over the bridal suite after your maid of honor checked her phone for the fifth time and stopped pretending everything was fine

Your wedding planner had slipped out to “make a call.” Your mother was pacing so hard her heels clicked dents into the hotel floor. And outside the closed door, guests were arriving downstairs in soft waves of chatter and clinking glasses….and your fiancé was nowhere to be found

You sat perfectly still in front of the vanity mirror, still in your white satin robe, makeup and hair all done as you looked down at phone when it buzzed, it wasn’t your fiance but your dad

Honey, I’m coming upstairs.

Then another text immediately after

Robby’s with me.

Robby had been your dad’s best friend since his med school years. He was an ER doctor who practically lived at the hospital and showed up at every family event looking exhausted and vaguely irritated to be there. He was in his early 50’s now, rough around the edges, permanently tired-looking and rather broad in a way that doctors got when they forgot to take care of themselves. He wasn’t comforting and he wasn’t emotional ever. You actually still remembered when you were in college and he had given you a card that was simply signed with his signature for your graduation gift. He was the kind of man who you met once and then happened to see at every holiday 

Your father stepped in first, already looking furious in that way dads did when they wanted to kill someone. Robby followed behind him and the second he looked at your face, he knew. You saw it happen in real time and almost lost it right there in front of him. His expression shifted instantly, not pity exactly, but you didn’t like it either way. It was like his brain had already entered crisis mode as if he were back in the ER

“Where is he ?” your dad asked someone sharply behind him 

Nobody answered but of course your best friend and maid of honor started crying instead, you were kind of glad. At least someone was being vulnerable with you at the moment.

Robby looked around the room once and pointed toward one of the bridesmaids “Has she eaten ?”

“What ?” one of your bridesmaids asked

“Today. Has she eaten ? Come on let’s listen” he repeated

“…I don’t know.” she sniffled

“Water ?”

Nobody answered again and he shook his head “Jesus Christ”, he walked over and crouched in front of you “Hey,” he said carefully

You stared at him blankly without saying a word, still in shock

“Can you look at me for a second ?”

You met his eyes

“You feel dizzy ?” his voice stayed calm

You nodded once “Like I’m on a neverending carousel”

“Chest pain ?”

“No.” you whispered “Not like that at least”

“Okay, nausea ?” Robby asked 

“…A little.”

Your father started to say something angry about the groom, but Robby cut him off without even looking away from you “None of that please, not now.”

Your dad actually stopped talking and it shocked you to your core, you moved your eyes to Robby who grabbed one of the untouched water bottles from the makeup table and unscrewed it for you, holding it to your mouth “Drink.”

You took a sip mostly because arguing felt impossible, you felt too weak to even talk back at this point 

“More than that please” he sighed

You glared weakly at him “I just got stood up and you want me to drink this cheap bottle of water ?”

“There she is,” he muttered “Okay. Good sign.”

The next few hours blurred together horribly. Word spread downstairs quickly and suddenly everyone was gone. Your best friend and bridesmaids canceled the music and catering, your mother cried in the bathroom thinking for some reason you couldn’t hear her and your father disappeared for twenty minutes and came back looking like he had considered committing a felony

And through all of it, Robby stayed with you. He had taken off his tie you knew he hated wearing given how badly it had been tied in the first place, and had spent the last hour calling the hotel staff and making sure nobody bothered you. When he saw you try to stand he gently walked you over to the bed in the room and laid you down himself the best he could

At one point he appeared with fries from room service and shoved them toward you “You need salt.”

“I’m not hungry Michael.” you snapped “I just got stood up, last thing I want are some nasty salty fries”

“That wasn’t a question, you need salt before you dehydrate then you’ll have a real issue” he said simply “Your little crying best friend told me through sobs you haven’t had a thing to eat since lunch yesterday, eat.” You sighed and took the basked and watched as he left the room to give you privacy and finally you lost it. You sobbed and screamed into your pillow until you felt your eyes go dry and your voice go hoarse eventually falling asleep

It was later that night, after everyone finally left and your parents had exhausted themselves finally into sleep in the adjoining suite, that there was a knock at your hotel door. You stood up and opened it still wearing your ruined wedding makeup and now an oversized sweatshirt with the ironic words “Bride To Be” on the front

Robby stood there holding a small plastic pharmacy bag and two coffees “Figured you needed these”

“You don’t have to do this,” you told him quietly

“I know.” he walked inside anyway

The room felt smaller suddenly, a little too intimate. You had known him for years, but always as your dad’s friend. The gruff doctor who showed up late to barbecues or thanksgivings and always spoke to your parents about the most boring of things. Now he was standing in your hotel room at midnight looking at you like he genuinely didn’t know how to help but was trying anyway

“I brought electrolyte packets,” he said, setting the bag down “And ibuprofen.”

“You think I’m dehydrated ?” you scoffed

“I think you cried for six hours, threatened to commit murder, shoved a bridesmaid against the wall when she wouldn’t give you your phone and told your mom and dad and I quote, fuck all the way off.”

“Fair.” you muttered 

He hesitated then nodded toward the bed “Sit down for a minute.”

You obeyed mostly because exhaustion had hollowed you out “Now what”

Robby sat in the chair across from you, elbows on his knees “You having palpitations ?”

You snorted softly “Michael, are you seriously doing a full intake right now ?”

“Yes.”

“You’re unbelievable, of course I feel like shit” you sniffled “I just got stood up on my wedding day, 6 years down the drain just like that and he didn’t even have the balls to tell me in person. I feel like shit !”

“You’d be surprised how many people end up in my ER after stuff like this.”

That quieted you down a little and his expression softened, not much, but enough “You don’t have to act okay tonight.”

Your throat tightened instantly so instead of crying again, you met his eyes “Is this the part where you tell me he didn’t deserve me ?”

“No.”

You blinked shocked “No ?”

“I didn’t know the guy well enough to determine that.” he shrugged

A startled laugh escaped you and he grinned weakly, “Good” he nodded

“What ?”

“That sound. Keep doing that instead.” 

You shook your head “You’re terrible at comfort.”

“I’m very aware unfortunately” he admitted, leaning back in his chair and rubbing at his jaw “My mother left me at my grandmother’s house when I was eight,” he said suddenly

You stared at him confused “What ?”

“She said she was going to the store.” he shrugged awkwardly “Never came back.”

Your face softened immediately “Robby…”

“So technically,” he continued seriously with a nod “I also got abandoned before a major life event.”

You blinked at him “That is not the same thing.”

“I know that now….clearly” Robby sipped his coffee

A laugh burst out of you before you could stop it and he looked relieved immediately with a chuckle of his own “I realized halfway through saying it that it was a bad comparison,” he admitted with a slight blush

“You think ?” you wiped your eyes “That’s still horrible, my god”

“She didn’t leave me at the altar at least. I wasn’t dressed up. She did leave me with my asthma inhaler though. Which was considerate.” he nodded 

“Stop—”

“I’m just saying there are different levels of abandonment and I think I take the win here” he put his hands up

You were fully laughing now, the ugly crying kind that turned into breathless hysteria and soon once again sobs. You covered your face with your hands as the sobs ran through your shaking body 

“Oh come on” he said softly “Listen, it’s gonna be okay” “No it’s not !” you screeched “My life is over ! It’s over ! This was humiliating !” “You life is not over” Robby whispered “It feels like it is but it isn’t, this is just a hurdle you have to go through. I know for a fact you’re gonna be fine. You’re strong.” “I don’t wanna be strong” you whimpered, meeting his eyes with your mascara stained face “I wanna be in love,  I wanna be married…..I wanna start a new chapter of live and now-now I’m gonna be the girl who wasn’t even good enough to marry and wasn’t even good enough to be told face to face. That’s how worthless I was to him” “Oh man, I should call your dad” he stood up slightly taken back “I’ll wake him up” “Are you seriously this bad at giving basic comfort ?” you snapped suddenly “My parents are sleeping Michael ! My mother cried herself to sleep, my dad had to get them a room next to mine to keep an eye on me because he thinks I’m gonna kill myself ! They took my shaving razors and eyebrow scissors and pens because they genuinely think I’m gonna try something ! You’re a doctor, do something !” you screamed at him

He put his hands up to his chest in surrender and let out a shaky breath “I specialize in saving lives at crucial points in time….I don’t specialize in…in tantrums” “Tantrums…” you looked at him and scoffed getting up from the bed “You think this is a tantrum ? I’ll show you a fucking tantrum !” you looked over at your wedding bouquet and threw it at him with just enough time that he quickly ducked it “You need to calm down” Robby said gently “Sit down” “Don’t fucking tell me to sit down !” you screeched grabbing your wedding dress that was still on hanger and taking it out as you walked over to your hotel balcony “Hey no !” he widened his eyes following after you and pulling you back just before you threw the dress over His eyes looked over you as he sat down on the balcony next to you and held you, his arms wrapped around your shoulders as sobs ripped through you. He knew he should say nothing and kept it that way “I’m sorry” you hiccupped “I’m so sorry. Are you okay ?” “I’m good” he nodded “Just….just try to breathe for now” You shook your head “I-I c-can’t”

“Come on kid…” the nickname should’ve annoyed you but instead it made you cry harder “You gotta breathe for me.”

“I can’t” you repeated 

“Yes you can.”

“It hurts.” you pressed both hands against your face “I feel so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid.” he shook his head

“He left me.” you murmured “He left me just before we got married…not even an explanation”

“That makes him stupid.” Robby corrected as he gently tugged the dress out of your grip before you accidentally launched yourself over the railing with it “There we go,” he murmured “Dress is under arrest.”

For a while neither of you spoke. You could hear cars move far below somewhere in the distance, music drifting faintly through downtown. Gently Robby cleared his throat, “You know what happens in the ER after somebody gets hurt really bad ?”

You sniffled “What ?”

“We stabilize first.”

You looked over at him “Okay ?”

“We don’t immediately start asking how they’re gonna rebuild their life or whether they’ll trust again or any of that dramatic nonsense people say in stupid medical tv shows.” he leaned his arms on his knees “First thing we do is stop the bleeding, we stop the biggest hurdle and we did that so now, your only job is getting through tonight.”

“I can do tonight,” you whispered

“Yeah,” he said “You can.”

“You really are terrible at comfort.” you wiped at your face

“I’m crushing it actually.” he smirked a bit

“Horribly.”

“I got you laughing twice. Statistically that’s a medical miracle.”

A small smile tugged at your mouth again and Robby noticed immediately but pretended not to. There was a knock at the suite door before your dad poked his head in cautiously “Everything okay ?”

“She attempted homicide via Oscar De La Renta,” Robby answered with a thumbs up getting up from the floor offering you his hand

“I hate both of you,” you muttered standing up

Your father’s expression softened when he saw you calmer then he sighed heavily and rubbed the back of his neck “There’s… another thing.”

“What now ?” your stomach immediately your stomach dropped

“Honey, I couldn’t cancel the honeymoon.” your dad looked genuinely apologetic

You stared at him blankly “The cruise ?” 

He nodded once “The cancellation policy was brutal. It leaves tomorrow afternoon.”

A hollow laugh escaped you “Fantastic, well I guess I’m going.”

“I know honey, I’m sorry.”

“Somewhere out there is a romantic honeymoon suite just waiting to mock me specifically. Fucking amazing” you shook your head “Bring on the tequila and endless room service”

Your dad winced but you didn’t care one bit, this was hell as far as you were concerned and it couldn't get any much worse at all at this point

It was Robby who looked between the two of you and stepped in “How long ?”

“Week and a half,” your father answered

You groaned and covered your face again “This is humiliating.”

“You don’t have to go.” your dad said softly “I don’t care about the money”

Yet somehow the thought of staying sounded and felt much worse, staying meant everyone whispering and random people calling wanting the gossip. It meant having to handle the pity and the never ending questions. Suddenly it felt like you couldn’t breathe inside the room anymore and of course Robby noticed

“You wanna disappear for a little while,” he said quietly

You looked at him, and because you were exhausted and past pretending, you nodded

“Your mother wanted to go with you but—”

“No,” you said instantly, a little too instantly and guilt flashed across your face “Sorry dad it’s just…I just… I can’t be taken care of anymore tonight.”

Before the silence could get awkward, Robby spoke up with a shrug “I’ll go.”

Both you and your dad looked at him confused as he shrugged again like he hadn’t just said something mildly insane “You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“You’re offering to come on my honeymoon cruise ?” you asked shocked

“Well when you say it like that it sounds weird.” he rubbed the back of his neck

“Because it is weird.” you looked at him “Really weird Michael, like super weird”

“You’d do that ?” your dad suddenly interrupted 

“She’s not getting on a boat alone in the middle of the ocean while half dissociated.” Robby gave him a look “She should be sedated but given I don’t carry those kinds of medications we can settle for her a chaperone of some sort until it’s determined she can in fact be alone”

“I’m sitting right here,” you muttered with an eyeroll

“And you tried to throw a wedding dress off a balcony an hour ago.” he reminded you “And you threw a bouquet towards my head”

“A very valid emotional response considering you said I was having a tantrum as if I’m some child and not an adult Michael” you scoffed

Robby glanced at you carefully then looked back toward your dad “I’ve got vacation days I never use anyway.”

“You hate vacations,” your dad said with a chuckle “I’ve known you since we were in our 20’s and you literally have never taken a vacation in your entire life man”

“No” Robby shook his head “I hate resorts, humid places, ugly hotels and amusement parks…you invited me to all of those and I kindly declined” he answered and looked at you, his voice softening again in that quiet, steady way that somehow helped you a lot more “You don’t have to decide tonight, but if you don’t wanna be alone, you won’t be.”

Your throat tightened painfully, nobody had said it like that yet. Not fixed, not cheered up and suddenly that felt like the first solid thing you had to hold onto all day.

By four in the morning the hotel had finally gone quiet, your mother was asleep and your father had gone home to shower and change after promising to come back in the morning and Robby was still awake

You had found him sitting at the small dining table near the suite kitchenette wearing reading glasses you had literally never seen before, scrolling through something on his phone with a half-finished coffee beside him

The sight almost startled you. Robby had always existed in your mind as this permanent, immovable figure, your dad’s sarcastic good friend, the ER doctor who never slowed down long enough to look human but right now he looked exhausted

His sleeves were rolled to his forearms, his tie was gone, his dark hair was slightly messy from running his hands through it all night and for a second you just stood there watching him. You looked him up and down and cleared your throat “Okay.”

He looked up immediately “Okay….what ?”

You swallowed once “It’s a deal.”

For a moment he just blinked at you, almost in his own little Robby world as he stared at you and mentally tried to remind himself what exactly you were saying okay to

“The cruise,” you clarified softly “If you’re still serious.”

“Oh, yeah,” he nodded “I’m serious.”

You crossed your arms loosely against yourself “You know everyone’s going to think this is weird.”

“Everyone already thinks I’m weird.” he stated “And frankly after today I’m comfortable letting society down.”

A small laugh escaped your lips and he noticed again but pretended not to, “You sure ?” he asked after a moment “No pressure.”

You thought about the alternative, about going home and facing the calls. The humiliation of it all waiting for you, sleeping in the apartment still full of unopened wedding gifts and waking up to the nightmare of it all over and over again like some neverending horror movie. You then looked at Robby who was awkwardly trying his best

“I don’t wanna be alone right now,” you finally admitted quietly

His face softened in a way that made your chest ache for whatever reason “Okay,” he said again, quieter this time, he rubbed a hand over his jaw and sighed “I should probably call Jack.”

“Who’s Jack ?”

“My best friend from residency.” he stood and grabbed his phone off the table “He owes me three favors and one emotional support conversation.”

You smiled faintly and nodded toward the balcony “I’ll give you privacy.”

“You don’t have to.”

“You’re about to explain to another adult man why you’re going on your best friend’s daughter’s honeymoon cruise.” you reminded him

“Good point.” Robby nodded 

You snorted softly and slipped back toward the bedroom area while he headed out onto the balcony giving him some space but still eavesdropping a bit

“Hey man” Jack answered on the first ring “I had a feeling you’d have a wild night, one night stand ?” “She got left at the altar” Robby said quietly “No fucking way” Jack said on the other line “Wait, this is your friends kid right ? She’s really really good looking, who’d leave her ? She’s a total bombshell, all respect of course” He rubbed his forehead “Seriously not the time right now but yes she’s very….pretty” “I’m just saying” Jack shrugged “I was at that christmas party you invited me to 3 years ago, she was a 10/10….so you’re saying she’s single ?” “You’re sick” Robby shook his head “But aside from that….I won’t be at the hospital for a bit, I uh….I’m going on a cruise…with her…her honeymoon cruise because it’s nonrefundable and she can’t be alone” “Holy shit you like her….you like your friends daughter” Jack smirked “Kinky” “It’s not like that, how could you even think that ? That’s-That’s not what this is” he said quickly “You stuttered” Jack pointed out “You know I kinda assumed you were into her considering when her dad stopped by the hospital to hand you the invite a few months ago, you looked like a kicked puppy your whole shift”

Robby pinched the bridge of his nose “I’m hanging up now, just wanted to give you a heads up.”, he stayed facing the city for another moment before finally turning around

You were still sitting curled up on the bed trying very hard not to smile as you overheard, “You called me pretty.” you chuckled

“I was making a medical observation.” he pointed out

You laughed softly again and this time he didn’t even try to hide the fact that hearing it made him relax, you looked at him standing there in the dim balcony light, tired, kind and completely out of his depth and still staying anyway

“You okay ?” he asked after a bit

“Yeah,” you answered honestly

Robby nodded once “Good.”

The next day after goodbyes and constant reassurements to your parents, you and Robby headed to the cruise terminal, to say it was chaos was an understatement. From families hauling luggage to annoying couples in matching sunglasses and little kids sprinting across polished floors while exhausted parents yelled after them, you were more than entertained

You stood beside Robby in oversized sunglasses and a hoodie, trying not to feel like everyone somehow knew you were supposed to be here with someone else meanwhile Robby looked deeply offended by the entire concept of cruises as a whole

“This many people should not be on one moving object in the ocean,” he muttered as he took both of your suitcases automatically “Is there healthcare onboard in case anyone has an emergency ?”

“You’re the one who agreed to this.” you murmured walking next to him

“I agreed to emotional support. Nobody mentioned little ones and annoying old people” he said back

Despite yourself, you smiled genuinely. You both walked to the makeshift front desk and gave your name. The process went surprisingly smoothly until the employee behind the desk beamed at both of you “Congratulations to the newlyweds !”

You physically choked and Robby froze mid signature

“Oh,” you started awkwardly “We’re not—”

“At all,” Robby finished immediately 

The employee blinked once, smile faltering “Oh” , the other woman behind the desk looked ready to climb into the ocean herself and quickly typed something on her computer to buy time

Robby finally cleared his throat and gave her a tilted smile  “Anyway, cabin with balcony view and protective railing preferably ?”

Still grinning, you followed him down the long hallway toward your suite until the cabin door opened and both of you stopped dead in your tracks

“Oh no,” you whispered

The room looked like Valentine’s Day had exploded all over. Rose petals were scattered across the bed in the shape of a heart and a bottle of champagne sat on top of a bucket chilling on ice. There were towels folded into swans kissing each other and a giant gold sign above the bed that read

CONGRATULATIONS NEWLYWEDS

Robby stared at it for a long moment and shook his head, his face and neck bright red “I’m gonna fight your father.”

You burst out laughing at his tone, “I don’t think he arranged this.”

“Holy fuck, it’s like a bad porn setting.” he rubbed both hands down his face “Jesus Christ.”

You laughed harder as he immediately went into problem solving mode “Okay. Alright. We can fix this.”

“This is not fixable.” you shook your head as you walked over and popped the champagne open “But I will be enjoying this overpriced beverage” You watched, bewildered, as Robby looked around and got to work. Within minutes he had removed the sign, dismantled the towel swans and swept the rose petals into the trash using a room service menu as a dustpan. At one point he held up a chocolate covered strawberry with visible annoyance “Why are these so…. sensual ?”

“You’re taking this so personally.” you took a seat on the couch 

“Because your father has accidentally put me inside a honeymoon fantasy.” he muttered looking around “I became a doctor to avoid situations exactly like this.”

“You became a doctor to avoid romance ?” you asked confused

“I became a doctor to avoid feelings in general.” he nodded

“That seems healthy.”

“It’s worked terribly.”

By the time he was done, the room looked mostly normal, the bed remained the problem. You both stared at it for a beat too long before Robby cleared his throat aggressively “I can-I can take the couch.”

“It barely fits you.” you shook your head 

“I’ve slept in hospital chairs.” he shrugged

Tilting your head, you looked at him and frowned “That’s….deeply concerning.”

“It’s called residency.” he rolled his eyes “Long shifts, too long to get home so lots of us would crash at the hospital” he said as he grabbed one of the extra blankets “Seriously, it’s fine.”

You watched him for a moment and shook your head no again “We can share it.”

Robby looked at you so fast it was almost comical, his face was once again red and you were sure he was about to break into hives seeing how his chest was rising and falling at a fast speed

“Not like that !” you rushed to clarify, “Normal human sharing. Not weird sharing.”

“There are multiple categories ?” he raised his brow

“You know what I mean Michael” you muttered

He looked deeply unconvinced but listened "Explain then ?”

“You take one side with a blanket” you pointed to the side by the door “And I’ll stay under the covers. You stay over them.”

“Like some kind of Victorian arrangement from the 1800’s, nice” he nodded

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet here we are kid, here we are.” Robby sighed “But your rules, I’m just here for the ride. I’m gonna read on the balcony. You should relax, we’re gonna take off in an hour or so”

The first night on the ship passed strangely peacefully after that. You had dinner together overlooking the water, walked the deck at sunset and talked about nothing important. For the first time in days, you almost felt normal again

Then nighttime came. You were curled under the blankets facing the balcony while Robby laid stiffly on top of the comforter beside you like a man awaiting execution. He wasn’t moving and if it wasn’t for his loud nose breathing you probably would’ve assumed he was holding his breath

“Robby, just relax,” you mumbled sleepily “It’s fine, we’re fine”

“I am relaxed.” he said back 

“You’re lying like Dracula.”

“I don’t know how to exist in this situation.” he admitted

You smiled faintly into your pillow before letting out a small sigh “Can I ask you something ?”

“Depends.” he shrugged

“Why didn’t you like me ?” you finally asked

Robby immediately turned his head toward you “What ?”

“When I was younger.” you stared at the ceiling “You always acted like I annoyed you.”

“That’s not true.” he shook his head “It wasn’t annoyance.”

You rolled over slightly to look at him “Then what was it ?”

Robby went quiet and for the first time since this trip had started, he actually looked uncomfortable. Genuinely uncomfortable. Slowly he sat up and sighed “You remember when you came to the hospital in college.”

Of course you did, you were 20 and pre-med. You were excited,  hopeful and desperate for academic approval. You had visited him during one of his shifts because your dad had arranged it and afterward, when you told Robby you wanted to become a doctor he had completely shut you down. You still remembered it vividly.

You’re not cut out for this kid, you should be a teacher. Teachers are cute for people like you, it’s easier.

It had crushed you entirely, you left the hospital that day and cried in your dorm the whole night, “You told me I wasn’t good enough,” you said quietly

Robby closed his eyes briefly “Yeah.”

“Why ?”

He stared up at the dark ceiling for a long moment before answering “Because by then I’d already been doing ER work almost fifteen years. I had no life, I was sleeping four hours a night with nothing to do on my days off because my life was fully dedicated to that job. I watched people die every single day, multiple times a day and it ate me up. And then you showed up,” he continued, “All excited and smart and hopeful and talking about wanting to save people and—” he laughed once under his breath “You looked too good for that life.”

Your expression softened immediately “Oh.”

“I didn’t want you becoming me,” he admitted 

The honesty in his voice hit harder than you expected,“So you hurt my feelings instead ?”

“I thought if I scared you enough, maybe you’d choose something easier.” Robby shrugged 

You studied him quietly in the dim light. He looked exhausted suddenly, older somehow. Like the weight of years in emergency rooms sat permanently across his shoulders. “You know what the worst part is ?” you asked softly

“What’s that ?”

“I still wanted your approval afterward.”

Robby’s face changed instantly, “Why ?” he murmured

“You were and are very important to my dad” you answered “I don’t think you realize how much he looks up to you. I know he’s only 3 years younger but he said when you guys met in med school you helped him, you were there for him no matter what and when he left because my mom got pregnant with me….you were the one to tell him to be with his family. He left to work for my grandpa’s company in New York and made money but you’re the one he always talked about being better. I wanted to be like you, I wanted him to be proud of me like he was of you.”

That seemed to genuinely wreck him for a second and his jaw tightened slightly before he looked away “I’m sorry,” he said finally “For all of it.”

“Do you still think I wouldn’t make a good doctor ?” you whispered

Robby looked back at you “No,” he said quietly “I think you’d care too much.”

With that nothing else was said as you drifted off to sleep as he stayed awake thinking, thinking on how he was gaining feelings he had never felt before. He knew the next few days would be different but at least now the tension was gone.

By the next afternoon, something between you and Robby had shifted, it was just easier and lighter. The horrible raw ache from the wedding was still there, but now it came in waves instead of drowning you whole. And somehow Robby had figured out exactly how to keep your head above water without making you feel pitied. Mostly through distraction.

“You’re aggressively competitive for a man in his 50’s,” you informed him as he crushed you at ping pong for the 10th time 

“You’re just slow for a woman in her late 20’s” he teased You laughed as he grinned for what felt like the first genuine time since the trip began. It changed his whole face when he smiled and you noticed that accidentally. Robby was….handsome, really handsome

The day passed surprisingly well after that. You wandered the upper decks with iced drinks neither of you particularly liked but drank for the sake of having the drink package. Robby forced you to eat lunch instead of surviving entirely on coffee and chips and you spent almost an hour sitting in deck chairs watching the ocean while he told you horrifying residency stories that somehow became funny coming from him

At one point you caught yourself forgetting, just enough to laugh without it hurting afterward and Robby noticed it too. You were leaning against the ship railing near sunset when your phone rang. The sound alone made your stomach drop and Robby looked over immediately from beside you as you stared at the screen, it was your fiance. Your chest tightened so fast it physically hurt.

“You don’t have to answer,” he said quietly, but your thumb had already hit accept

“Hello ?”

“Hey.”

Your throat closed and Robby straightened beside you subtly, watching your face

“I know you probably hate me—”

“You left me at the altar you asshole !” you snapped

“I panicked ! I got scared and nervous and I ran, I fucked up okay ? I fucked up and I just want you back. I need you back babe. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’ll do whatever it takes, I’ll pay for everything. I’ll-I’ll pay your dad back whatever he spent, please just-” Robby held his hand out silently and you looked at him, confused, “Phone,” he said calmly

Your ex was still talking, “Please answer me, please just hear me out so we can fix this baby. I love you, you know I love you”

Robby kept his hand extended as you hesitated then slowly handed him the phone “Robby…what are you gonna do”

He said nothing and lifted the phone to his ear “You do not get to do this to her. You lost the right to ask for anything when you abandoned her on her wedding day so stop calling her, get your shit out of her apartment and fuck all the way off.” he hung up and looked back at you before throwing the phone over the railing 

“Robby !”

“I’ll buy you a new one.” he said calmly

“You just threw my phone into the Pacific Ocean !”

“Atlantic.” he corrected you 

“That’s not the point !” you looked down at the ocean in front of you “What the fuck ?”

“You were about to let him manipulate you.”

“I was not—” you defended quickly

“He says he loves you after humiliating you publicly and disappearing without explanation ?” Robby shook his head once “No.”

You stared at him, stunned, passengers nearby were openly watching now but Robby didn’t care even slightly

“You don’t get it,” you said shakily “I was with him for 6 years.”

“Yeah ? He still left you.” he said back stepping closer as he lowered his voice “Listen to me, I may not know anything about love or romance but I do know he doesn’t get to come back now because he’s lonely or guilty or scared. Someone who loves you doesn’t do that kind of thing. He doesn’t get to change his mind while you’re still hurt. You deserve someone who doesn’t ever have to second guess how they feel about you….you deserve someone who knows…who knows that they want to be with you and who likes you, genuinely likes you”

“Hopefully that day comes soon” you said softly

By the 6th night of the cruise, the honeymoon suite had started to feel strangely normal and somehow you and Robby had fallen into a rhythm that felt dangerously easy. Dinner in crowded restaurants had become exhausting after people kept smiling knowingly at you both, so that night you ordered room service instead. Robby claimed it was because he was socially fatigued and you went right along with it

Now the two of you sat cross-legged on opposite sides of the bed with room service trays between you, breaking his rule of no eating on the bed. You were halfway through stealing fries off his plate when you noticed him staring out toward the dark ocean quietly

“What’s up ?” you asked

“Hm ?”

“I’m reflecting.” he answered you “And eating this greasy burger that’s gonna make me fatter than what I already am”

You chuckled “You’re so annoying”

Comfortable silence took over, the kind that had slowly started happening between you without either of you noticing. After a bit you looked over at him “Can I ask you something ?”

“That depends how invasive it is.” Robby said back 

“It’s invasive.”

“Hmm” he took a sip of his drink “Proceed.”

You hesitated briefly and went for it, “Why didn’t you ever get married ?”

The question landed harder than you expected and you saw it immediately in the way his expression shifted. He didn’t look defensive, just surprised. Like nobody had asked him that in a very long time

Robby leaned back slightly against the headboard, his eyes dropping toward the untouched fries in his lap, “I almost did once,” he admitted quietly

Your eyebrows lifted a little “Oh ?

 “Residency.” he shrugged “Years and years ago”

“What happened ?”

“She got tired of waiting for me to come home.” he looked at you “She wasn’t wrong, I missed everything. Birthdays. Dinners. Holidays.” a faint humorless laugh escaped him “One year I slept through Christmas entirely in an on-call room.”

You frowned “That’s horrible”

“I kept thinking things would calm down eventually,” he explained “That once I became an attending I’d suddenly become a normal person.”

“But you didn’t.” you whispered

“No.” he answered tired, absentmindedly rubbing his wrist “After a while it just became easier not to try.”

“What about kids ?” you finally asked and for the first time since you had known him, he looked genuinely vulnerable. 

“I wanted them.” his answer came quietly, he looked down at his hands “When I was younger I thought I’d have all of it eventually.” he smiled faintly to himself “House. Wife. Kids yelling somewhere in the background.”

You could practically picture it and suddenly it hurt to imagine him never getting any of those things. It was such a basic thing that most men took for granted and here he was still yearning for that

“But after enough years,” he continued softly “you kinda accept maybe that life just isn’t for you.”

“Robby…”

He shrugged again, trying to play it off “It’s fine.”

But it clearly wasn’t, you reached across the blankets without really thinking and rested your hand over his. He went completely still and your fingers curled lightly around his larger hand.

“You don’t know that,” you said quietly, his eyes lifted to yours slowly “Anything is possible.”

Robby’s gaze dropped briefly to your mouth before returning to your eyes and suddenly the air in the room felt different. Your heartbeat stumbled and he looked like he was actively trying not to cross some line in his head

“You should be careful saying things like that to me,” he said softly

“Why ?” you whispered

His thumb shifted slightly beneath your hand “Because I’m starting to think about things I shouldn’t.”

One hand came up carefully to your cheek, rough fingertips brushing softly against your skin like he was giving you time to stop him but you didn’t so he kissed you. It was nothing like you expected. It was nice, intentional. Like a man who had spent years holding himself back and had finally allowed himself one thing he wanted 

Your fingers tightened instinctively around his hand as he kissed you slowly,  like he still couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to. When he pulled back slightly, his forehead rested briefly against yours

“Tell me if this is a bad idea.”

“It doesn’t feel like one.” you answered with a grin

Something in his expression softened and this time when he kissed you again, he smiled against your mouth first.

The next morning felt different immediately, softer. You woke slowly to sunlight spilling through the balcony curtains and the low hum of the ocean waves beneath the ship. For one disorienting second, you forgot where you were, then you felt warmth beside you, Robby

Memory came back all at once after that. From the kiss to another kiss…to a desperate makeout session to the both of you fucking the whole night. Your stomach flipped and carefully, you rolled slightly onto your side. Robby was already awake, he was sitting near the edge of the bed in gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt, elbows resting on his knees, coffee in hand while staring out toward the balcony

You could always tell when he was thinking too hard. His shoulders got tense in a very specific way and his eyes had this dazed look in them

“Morning,” you said quietly

He looked back immediately “Hey”, his voice sounding rough from sleep

You pushed yourself up slowly against the pillows and held the bedsheet up to your chest “How long have you been awake ?”

“Hour maybe.” he nodded and set his coffee down “We should probably talk.”

Your stomach dropped a little “Oh.”

“No, not in a bad way.” he chuckled “I mean, I don’t see it that way”

“That sentence is always followed by something terrible.” you scooted closer to him, your arms wrapping around his neck from behind “It better not be terrible Michael”

“I’m a doctor. We deliver bad news professionally, don’t you worry” he leaned his back towards you “I meant what I said,I like you. You know that, right ?”

You nodded “Duh ! I mean look at me ?”

Robby chuckled  “But…” he looked down at his hands for a second before continuing “But I’m also 52 and I’m your dad’s good friend and you just got abandoned by someone you were supposed to marry.”

“Robby—”

“Ah, Ah…listen.” he looked at you again “I don’t want you waking up in a month realizing this happened because you were hurt and lonely and I was just… there.”

“You weren’t just there,” you said quietly 

His jaw tightened slightly like hearing that made it harder instead of easier, “Maybe not,” he admitted “But this is still complicated.”

You watched him carefully and suddenly you realized what this actually was, it was fear. Robby was trying to give you an out before you could regret him.

“Last night mattered to me,” he spoke again “Probably more than it should’ve.”

Your heart stumbled painfully at that and you did your best to keep cool because inside your heart, it mattered to you too

“But when this cruise ends…” he exhaled slowly “If you decide you want things to go back to normal, they can.”

“Normal ?”

“You know what I mean kid” he rolled his eyes

You laughed at him because nothing about this felt normal anymore. Not the way your chest felt like butterflies every time he looked at you, not the way he instinctively reached for your hand whenever a crowd was around and definitely not the fact that he had become the safest place you had in less than a week

Robby stared out toward the balcony again briefly adding his final say “Honestly, maybe it’s better that way.”

Grabbing a shirt on the floor you put it on and moved to sit next to him, taking his hand in yours “Can you honestly believe that ?”

His eyes flicked back to yours and a long silence followed and then finally, with the usual Robinavitch exhausting honesty he carried with him, came his answer “No.”

Your breath caught slightly and you raised your brow “See ?”

Robby rubbed a hand over his face “I think about this going badly and your father never speaking to me again. He’s been my best friend for over twenty years. And if I hurt you, he’d kill me.”

Despite the sudden low mood, you smiled faintly “He absolutely would.”

“Violently.” he added 

“I would to” you winked at him

That earned a quiet laugh from him but it faded quickly “And you also deserve stability right now, not some complicated situation with an emotionally constipated ER doctor.”

“You’re not emotionally constipated.” you shook your head “Just guarded”

Robby gave you a look “Is that what you call it ?”

“You threw my phone into the ocean because you were upset for me, that was emotional clarity.”

“Oh now say that ?” he chuckled

You snorted softly and shook your head and the tension eased for exactly one second before he looked at you again, serious now “I just need you to understand something. If this ends here,” he said carefully, “I’ll respect it.”

“But ?” you asked looking in his eyes

“But I’m not pretending I don’t want more.” he held your gaze

The room suddenly felt very small. You could hear the ocean outside the sounds of the ship waking up for the morning and sitting beside you, Robby looked almost painfully sincere

“I dreamed about this kind of life once,” he admitted quietly “About having someone.” His eyes searched yours carefully “I just never thought it would happen like this.”

You reached for his hand again instinctively and the second your fingers touched his, he relaxed, enough for you to notice.

“You know,” you murmured “For someone who claims he’s bad at comfort, you spend a lot of time trying to protect me.”

Robby looked down at your joined hands, then back at you with a grin “That’s because I’m already in too deep not to.”

[maekarsmistress]

Hiii! I was wondering if I could request something for Robby from the Pitt? Something like Robby has a girlfriend who’s knees pop out of place a lot and the first time that it happened In front of him he panicked slightly and was ready to pop them back into place for her and drive to the hospital to make sure everything is fine. But the reader pop them in herself and gets back up and walks around and Robby is just shocked because he’s never seen anything quite like that before.

You can use as much or as little as you’d like for inspiration. I hope you have a wonderful day/night!

Pop!

in which, you almost give your dear boyfriend, michael robinavitch, a cardiac event over something that, in your mind, is completely routine.

CW: reader has HSD (hypermobility spectrum disorder), fluff, kissing, domestic!robby. REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

The early morning sun trickled in through the slight crack in the curtain, effectively blinding Michael for a brief moment. With a heavy sigh, he rubbed the palm of his hand over his face, trying to drag himself into consciousness after another night of half-sleep and ruined circadian rhythm courtesy of the ER. Beside him, you stretched your limbs lazily beneath the sheets, arms extending above your head as you woke up. “Guh’morning..” You murmur, voice rough with sleep, smiling sheepishly despite your eyes remaining shut.

Michael looked down at you for a second before leaning over, pressing a tired kiss against your mouth. “Good morning, baby,” he croaked, voice still wrecked from sleep.

You pushed yourself upright onto both hands, hair a complete mess around your face. Michael’s old navy-blue hoodie hung off your frame, the sleeves swallowing your hands and the hem brushing against your mid-thigh. It still smelt faintly like him despite the fact he barely wore it anymore; most of his clothes had somehow ended up becoming yours over the last few months anyway. “M’ gonna make coffee, want some pancakes?” you asked blearily, one hand shoved into the pocket of his hoodie whilst the other rubbed against your eye.

Michael watched you quietly.

There were mornings where he genuinely could not believe this was his life now. You in his apartment, in his clothes, half-asleep and talking about pancakes like it was the most normal thing in the world. Four months ago, he had fully expected this relationship to implode before it ever became anything serious. His hours were horrific, his temper after shifts was worse, and he carried stress around so permanently it may as well have been stitched into him. Yet somehow you were still here, still crawling into his bed at midnight after shifts, still leaving skincare products scattered across his bathroom counter, still filling the silence in his apartment so naturally that now, when you were not there, the place felt wrong.

It made something tighten painfully in his chest sometimes, not in a bad way, jsut enough to remind him that he had spent years convincing himself he neither needed nor wanted this sort of thing.

He nodded slowly, the corner of his mouth lifting; the expression softened the permanent exhaustion carved into his features, the faint crow’s feet beside his eyes becoming more obvious as he smiled. “Pancakes sound good.”

You hummed softly in acknowledgement before climbing out of bed completely, shuffling out of the bedroom still half asleep. Michael remained where he was for another moment, listening to your footsteps disappear down the hallway before he finally reached over for his glasses and phone on the bedside table.

A few seconds later, he heard the kettle click on; then your voice floated through the apartment quietly, humming Phantom of the Opera to yourself from somewhere in the kitchen. Minutes passed by, your humming gone uninterrupted until an almost quiet crackling pop alongside a heavy thud echoed throughout the apartment as Michael pulled a shirt over his head, followed immediately by a strained, hurried, “fuck,” from the kitchen.

Michael’s head snapped up instantly, within seconds he was moving down the hallway toward the kitchen, bare feet hitting against the hardwood as he rounded the corner quickly. The sight in front of him made his stomach twist immediately; you were down on the floor beside the counter awkwardly, one knee bent beneath you whilst both hands gripped around the other one tightly. The kettle continued boiling behind you quietly, steam curling upward as if nothing had hapened, it clicked off automatically, emitting a hissing sound.

“Baby?” Michael dropped down beside you immediately. “Are you alright, what happened?”

One of his hands landed against your back instinctively, steady and warm as his eyes scanned over you rapidly. You looked more annoyed than panicked, though your breathing was uneven as you leaned further over your knee. “It’s fine,” you managed quickly. “I promise, it happens.”

Michael frowned immediately. “What happens?” You couldn’t quite get the words out before another horrible sound echoed through the kitchen; you leaned forward, putting pressure on your knee as a thick knock-crunch noise that made Michael visibly tense beside you. Your face pinched briefly as your knee shifted back into place beneath your hands.

You exhaled hard afterward, shoulders finally relaxing slightly.

“Jesus Christ,” Michael muttered under his breath, staring directly at your knee. “Did you just pop your knee back into place?” You nodded weakly before letting your head fall forward for a second. “Sorry, turned too fast-”

Michael continued staring at you for another moment like he genuinely could not comprehend what he had just watched happen in front of him. “You wanna explain what the hell just happened, sweetheart?”

You looked up at him sheepishly despite the obvious discomfort still written across your face. “I told you, it happens sometimes.” You pursed your lips, sighing as you tried to stand up. “That is not a normal sentence.” Michael shook his head; before you could answer, Michael was already pushing himself back onto his feet. He turned toward the freezer quickly, opening it with far more force than necessary before grabbing a bag of frozen vegetables from inside. You watched him quietly as he moved around the kitchen, still trying to steady your breathing properly.

“Sorry, baby,” you murmured again. “I should’ve told you sooner, I guess.” Michael looked over at you immediately at that before walking back over. “Yeah,” he said honestly, crouching down again. “Probably.” His tone was not harsh, if anything, he just sounded worried.

He carefully helped guide you up from the floor afterward, one arm around your waist as he slowly walked you over toward the couch. The entire time his hand remained firm against your side like he expected your knee to give out again at any second. Once you sat down, he crouched in front of you again before pressing the frozen vegetables gently over your knee.

“Does this happen often?” he asked quietly, eyebrows knitted together as he looked up at you. You nodded once before taking the vegetables from his hand yourself. Michael let you, though his eyes barely left your face for longer than a few seconds.

“Have you gone to a doctor?” His words were met with another nod. Michael sighed softly before reaching up, brushing hair carefully away from your face. His hand lingered against your cheek afterward, thumb resting just beneath your eye as he tilted your head slightly toward him.

“What’s going on, hm?” he asked more gently this time; you looked down toward your lap for a moment before answering quietly. “I just… didn’t want you to look at me differently.”

Michael’s expression shifted immediately, one of worry replaced by curiosity. “I have hypermobility disorder,” you admitted finally. “Sometimes I get a bit ahead of myself when turning or walking..” Michael stared at you for a moment before shaking his head slightly in disbelief, his hand dropping from your cheek down toward your shoulder. “Why didn’t you say anything? I’m a doctor, baby.” He huffed quietly, leaning forward enough to press a soft kiss into your hairline.

You looked down toward your knee instead, fingers tightening slightly around the bag of vegetables resting against it. “Didn’t wan’ to scare you off..”

Michael pulled back just enough to look at you properly again, brows furrowing almost immediately at the confession. “Scare me off?” he repeated quietly, like the idea itself made no sense to him. “Baby, c’mon.”

You shrugged weakly, avoiding his eyes again. “People get weird about it sometimes.”

“Well, I’m not people.” His hand rubbed slowly against your shoulder, thumb dragging back and forth absentmindedly through the fabric of his hoodie still hanging off your frame. Michael let out a quiet tsk beneath his breath before shaking his head once more. “You’d have to do a hell of a lot worse to scare me away, sweetheart.”

The coment managed to pull a small smile from you despite yourself; tired and embarrassed and a little sheepish all at once. The sight of it softened something in Michael almost instantly. His hand slid upward from your shoulder until his fingers curled loosely along the side of your neck. “Still can’t believe you just popped your knee back into place like it was nothing,” he muttered quietly.

A quiet laugh escaped you then, softer this time, Michael watched you for another second before leaning in properly; the kiss was slow, careful, much like him. His hand remained against your neck as his lips pressed against yours gently at first, lingering there for a moment before deepening slightly. You could feel the scratch of stubble against your skin as he tilted his head, kissing you with an almost unfair amount of tenderness considering he had looked ready to call an ambulance less than ten minutes ago.

Your hand moved instinctively toward the front of his shirt, fingers curling loosely into the fabric as he kissed you again, slower this time, like he was reassuring himself more than anything else. Michael always kissed like he had nowhere else to be when the two of you were alone together, unhurried, warm, the kind of kiss that made your chest ache a little afterward.

He finally pulled away reluctantly, a quiet hum escaping him as his forehead dropped lightly against yours; for a second neither of you spoke.

Your noses brushed slightly as you looked at him, his brown eyes still carrying that same concern from earlier despite how much calmer he seemed now. “Still gotta check you out though, baby,” he whispered softly, you groaned quietly at that, letting your head tip forward against his. “After breakfast, please?”

Michael closed his eyes briefly like he was genuinely considering arguing with you over it, he sighed mockingly. A small smirk pulling at his lips;

“Alright, sweetheart.” ignore any spelling mistakes please, its two in the morning for me.

much love!

[pittgifs]

[minisangels]

No one can tell me this man is not SEXY as hell ….. you’re living under a Rock if you think otherwise... sorry not sorry … Pinterest done it to me again. …

Noah Wyle + Dr.robby

[ceijoh]

everywhere i go i keep her picture in my wallet 

pairings: michael robinavtich x f!reader

So what if Michael keeps dirty photos of you in his wallet?

warnings: established relationship. taking photos of each other. smut. blowjobs. creampie. obscene amount of the word 'baby' used. male masturbation in the workplace. in this household we believe that robby babbles when he's about to cum and we believe in praise kink for reader and robby <3 minors dni. as always, let me know what you think!

word count: 2.5k+

robinavitch masterlist | masterlist | ask

Michael Robinavitch will never admit it but he was a romantic. A man straight out of the old black and white movies. He would never admit it but he’s always wanted to keep a photo of someone special in his wallet. It always felt wrong to put someone there. His past girlfriends never being allowed the place. His seven week flings, as many people called it, never even got close to having the honour. 

Until you. 

It was a beautiful photo. He remembers it well. It was taken at his height, aiming down at you, a big cheesy grin on your face as he took the photo. On the days where the ER was more than he could handle, he often took it out, just admiring you and feeling the weight of your relationship ground him. 

It was well known within the ER that he’d happily take out his wallet and show it to anyone that asked about you. He puffed up his chest as he talked about you, your job, your relationship, everything and anything. He was proud of you, proud of himself to be able to called yours. 

It was sweet, and everyone thought it. From the gushing of the older ladies that came in, to the incessant gossip fodder that Robby gave the pitt, everyone loved it. 

And so what if behind the innocent photo of you he has two worn and well loved photos that aren’t so innocent? What if he happened to take them out during the brief breaks that he gets when he’s at work - when the ER was weighing him down in a different way and he needed an outlet? 

-

“Michael,” you panted, fingers tightening on his chest, you leaned your body reaching for something. 

“What’re you doing, baby?” Michael watched, as best as he could as he saw you grab your phone. 

“Memento,” you clenched, as you shakily opened up your camera. Focusing as best you could while swivelling your hips, you focused on his chest, your hand in the frame softly clutching his stomach. 

Grinning when he realised you were doing, you aimed your photo up, trying to capture the look on his face. Balancing yourself, you placed your other hand on his face, softly caressing his face, moaning lowly when he began kissing up your hand. Taking a couple of photos, you threw your phone somewhere on the bed and planted your hands on his chest. 

“You’re dirty,” he grinned as he wrapped his arms around you, bringing you down flush to his chest. Placing his feet on the mattress, he thrusted up earning a particularly loud moan out of you. “That’s it, baby.” 

Feeling your panting on his neck, Michael moved his lips until he could reach you. Messily placing his tongue in your mouth, he could feel the combination of your drool slowly slithering down his neck. 

He could feel you getting close, your walls clenching around his cock and your mouth falling from his, his name coming out in pants. Rolling your hips, you dragged your nails down Michael’s chest, squeezing until your felt release come. 

“Fuck, I love you,” Michael grunted into your ear. “Love you, love your fucking pussy, love my girl,” he choked out the praises as he finished in you. Wrapping you in his embrace tighter, you couldn’t help but whimper as you felt his cum flood inside your pussy. 

“You okay?” He gently moved the hair stuck to your face, placing a gentle kiss on your lips. 

“Can I see?” Michael kissed your cheek as you laid on his chest, the heat and sweat a bit uncomfortable but you both couldn’t bear to leave each other. 

Finding your phone, you accessed your photos, tapping on the first one. It was blurry, as you expected. You could barely make out that there was a person in the photo. Frowning, you swiped to the next photo which was better. 

“Look at that,” you said in appreciation, eyes roaming the photo, landing on the glisten of his chest and soft swell of his stomach. “Fuck, Michael, you’re beautiful.” 

You turned your phone to show the man below you, watching as a bashful flush creeped up to his cheeks. 

“Are you going to be pissed if I have this as my background?”

Ever since then Michael’s been quite a bit obsessed with the thought of taking photos of the two of you together. But he was always too enthralled with whatever you were doing that he forgets to pick up his phone and take a photo. 

The first one was an accident. 

It was an off day for Michael, you were both lazily laying on the couch. You turned to him, and you were a bit awestruck at just how handsome he was. Sure, he was just sitting on the couch, with his reading glasses on and wearing a t-shirt but you were sure that there wasn’t a man who was more handsome than Michael Robinavitch. 

Gazing downwards you bit your lip as you saw the grey sweats that he was wearing, and if you squinted your eyes right, you swear you could see a bulge. Fidgeting in your seat, you somehow managed to turn yourself on, sliding down to the ground, you placed yourself in front Michael. Placing your hands on his knees you slid your hands up until his waistband. 

Pawing at the band of his sweats, Michael looked down at you in amusement, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. “What are you doing?” 

“I’m bored,” you whined, as you began tugging down his pants. “And you look beautiful.” 

“Oh?” Michael leaned back, paper forgotten as he tossed it to the other side of the couch. You could see the cocky smirk on his face but beneath that the small red flush that your compliment brought on. 

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so handsome,” you nodded, tugging his waistband down. You watched as his cock came to view, half-hard but still always so impressive. Michael’s cock flopped to his left thigh as you continued to push his pants down. Peppering kisses from his knees to his inner thigh, you smirked as you saw his cock twitch and begin leaking. 

Placing one hand on one knee, you began leaving little bites, occasionally flicking your eyes to Michael whose chest was now heaving, his hands clenched on the cushions. Finally reaching your prize, you didn’t hesitate to start kissing the side of his cock with an open mouth, your tongue trailing the multiple veins. 

Kissing his tip, you looked back up at him. “So pretty,” tapping the head a few times on your tongue, you languidly licked him from base to tip. “Love you,” you muttered against his cock before parting your lips and taking him down your throat. Gagging as you pushed him down slowly, you felt his cock fully harden as you reached the back of your throat. 

Putting his hand on the back of your head, Michael watched as his length disappeared in your mouth, your nose brushing against his pubic hair before going back up, sucking in your cheeks when you hit his tip. Then repeating the actions, each time more hurried than the last. He felt his balls tighten and willed himself to just hold out a little bit longer. 

Wrapping his hands around your hair, Michael regretfully pulled you away from his cock, a sympathetic smile on his face as he heard your whine. “Beautiful,” Michael praised as he saw you; face flushed, teary eyes and a mixture of his precum and your saliva. Caressing your cheek, you automatically leaned into his touch, a soft and adoring look on your face. 

Feeling around for his phone, Michael shakily opened the camera. You moved slightly, trying to see what he was doing, “Stay still, baby,” Michael warned, pulling your hair a bit. “Look at me,” aiming the camera, you smiled as you grasped his cock. 

Showing off to the camera, you placed the head of his cock back on your tongue, a cheeky grin on your face as you heard the shutter. 

“Wait,” Michael rasped, his hands gently tugging on your hair. “Can you hold my cock against your face?” 

You chuckled fondly and followed his instructions. Placing his cock against the side of your face, you smiled dazedly at the camera. Taking multiple photos, Michael began to tremble as you tightened your grip and began stroking him. “Fuck,” he breathed out, “so beautiful.” 

“Show me how to print it out later,” Michael groaned as he felt you swallow around him. At his statement you couldn’t help chuckle around his cock. “Shit, you okay?” 

Pulling away from him, “You’re such an old man.” 

“Well this old man just has a photo of you with his cock on his phone,” Michael twisted his phone before throwing it somewhere on the couch. “Now come on, baby, come up, want to cum in your pussy.” 

You rolled your eyes but nonetheless stood up and placed yourself on his lap. “Such a romantic.” 

The second was more intentional. Michael felt insatiable that night, asking you if he could just use you, and of course you said yes. 

“Best girl,” Michael thrusted, “best fucking pussy,” this time he manhandled your legs so they were over his shoulders. Leaning over you, you groaned at the full weight on him on top of your body, “Fucking love you,” he panted against your ear, biting across your jaw until he placed an open mouth kiss to your lips. 

Wrapping your legs around him, you felt each and every thrust of his cock, your walls tightening with each movement. Slackjawed, all you could do was run your nails down his back, clenching when you heard Michael hiss above you. Nipping your lips, Michael moved down your neck before licking back up to your mouth. 

Moving his hand to feel around for his phone, Michael didn’t relent in his frantic thrust, his other hand reaching for his phone. Quickly opening it, he leaned back and you whined at the loss of his weight. Angling his phone down, he couldn’t help but wrap one hand around your neck, gently closing his grip.

“Stay,” and as he began taking photos, his hand drifted down, splaying it across your lower stomach. There was something about watching you through your phone that got Michael heated more than usual. Maybe it was the vulnerability, the trust that you give him. 

Leaning back, he felt you slip your legs down, wincing as it reached his thighs. “Stay still, sweetheart,” pulling back a bit, he aimed the photo again. This time his cock in frame, zooming in he couldn’t help but buck his hips, entranced in the way your pussy engulfed him. Tossing his phone by your side, Michael slammed back in, causing you to arch your back, your tits practically jumping in his face. 

He increased his pace, his forearms by your neck, mouth on yours. “Gonna cum baby,” he warned against your mouth. 

“Inside,” you pleaded, tightening your legs around him. “Please, Michael, fill me up.”

“You first,” reaching down, he balanced on one forearm, one hand reaching to your clit to rub tight little circles, and his mouth finding home on your neck. Feeling him bite down where your neck meets your shoulder, Michael groaned as he felt your walls flutter around his cock. Squeezing once, he felt you pulse your hips as his name came out as a silent scream. 

Cursing Michael chased his release, his hips losing any rhythm he had. Knowing that he was closed, you clenched as hard as you could, Michael bit down harder and with one last muffled grunt of your name, you felt him empty inside of you. 

Hissing as he removed himself, Michael reached to grab his phone. Aiming it down to your leaking cunt, he snapped a couple of photos. Separating your folds with his fingers, he bit his lip as he saw you clench and pushed out some of his cum. Tutting as he saw some of his release land on the bed, he gave your pussy one last gentle kiss and threw his phone somewhere on the bed. 

Laying on top of you, Michael lazily kissed up and down your neck, while you played with the hairs on the base of his neck. Letting out a contended sigh, you felt your heartbeat begin to settle. 

“Next time, film yourself cumming side of me.” 

-

A particularly loud bang outside of the bathroom brought Michael out of his trance. He looked down, cock in his hand and your photo in the other. Gritting his teeth, he knew that he couldn’t go out with this. Stroking faster, tightening his fist - trying to recreate your wet heat (but failing), Michael thought about you; the way you felt, the sounds that you made. Grunting your name, he threw his head back, his hand squeezing the base of his cock as he pointed his cum to the toilet. 

Panting he looked down at his hand and felt a bit of shame run through his veins. But as he looked at what was on his other hand, he could feel the warm thrum up his spine. “Fuck baby, look at what you’ve done to me.”

Leaving the bathroom, he looked at Dana and mouthed ‘taking my five’, and stepped outside into the ambulance bay. Tapping your contact, he placed his phone against his ear. 

“Michael? You okay babe?” 

“Just missed you,” he silently murmured, leaning against the wall. 

“Michael Robinavitch, it’s currently eleven am and you’re jerking off?” You laughed breathily, and he could hear the creak in your chair as you sat back. 

He chuckled, feeling hot underneath his scrubs, “I just miss you,” he enunciated. “How the hell did you even get to that conclusion?” 

“You get sentimental after you cum, Michael,” you paused and he could practically imagine you connecting the dots. “Did you look at the photos again?” 

“They’re very good photos,” he responded instantly and you hummed. 

“I think they’re a bit outdated, though, don’t you think?” You teased. 

The thrum was back, eagerness filling every crevice of his bones. “What do you have planned, princess?” 

Smiling, “I’m thinking that you have two straight days off, and we’ll have plenty of time to update those photos,” you stated coyly. “I have some ideas, if you’re up for it, Robinavitch.” 

Michael groaned which caused you to chuckle, “I have eight more hours, you can’t do this,” running a hand down his face, he could feel the telltale sign of his blood rushing to his cock. 

“You’re the one who messaged me after you jerked off,” you scoffed. “You started it.” 

He rolled his eyes, “Well, I’m sorry for missing the love of my life.” 

All he got was a soft cooing noise from you, and a, “Uh-huh, sure. Now go save lives, doc, and when you get home we can replace those very well loved photos with new ones.” 

Michael couldn’t help the grin appear on his face, “You’re dirty.” 

“And you love me,” you teased, then in a more serious manner, “And I love you.” 

“I love you,” Michael replied instantly. “I’ll see you when I get home.”

“Try not to wear yourself out on your breaks Doctor Robinavitch, I’ll need you in tip top shape tonight.”

[ceriseangels]

Stop I love this so much…the praise was so delectable oh my GOD

Michael Robinavitch deserves sweet in love sex!!!! And I would like to give it to him!!!!

[minisangels]

Theses photos are making me miss him ….. can’t wait to have season three of the Pitt ….

[science-hoes]

Gripping all 3 strands that are left while I ride it crazy style

[lvely-prose]

— take her home

pairings: joel miller x fem! reader

synopsis: you had a crush on joel. it was obvious now. which was why when your fathers work began pushing you closer together, you were grateful for the opportunity to be closer to him. even if that meant going on a little road trip with him.

word count: 6.9k

warnings: age gap, daddy issues, familial issues, kissing, lots of touching, fluff

pae speaks ~ sorry for how late this is coming out i’ve been so busy lately but i’m back! i enjoyed writing this so much and thank you so much for the support on it <3 it means a lot to me xo (and i lied, there will be one more part after this lol)

The days passed and you couldn’t stop yourself from looking for Joel everywhere you went. You hoped to see him at the grocery store, the Tipsy Bison, and especially when you were working on the farm. You wanted an excuse to talk to him though you figured you had plenty.

He felt like the stable ground you kept searching for. Like maybe the dead end road you thought you were on actually was leading you to this.

To Joel.

One morning, you woke up to the sound of a truck door slamming shut. You blinked awake, your mouth dry and eyes half shut. You glanced around your room before grabbing the water bottle by your bed and taking a sip.

After a while arguing with yourself about getting out of bed, you finally managed to throw the covers off and start your day.

The floorboards creaked under your feet as you went into the bathroom. You smelled of vanilla and cigarettes. You leisurely brushed your teeth, taking your time since no one was waiting on you.

You finished up in the bathroom before going back to your room. The sun was shining brightly, creating a shadow of patterned lace against the floor. Everything about the air and the sun made it a lazy Saturday morning.

Until you heard voices coming from outside your window.

You padded over, socks scuffing against the ground. Who in the world could be here so early?

Your fingers wrapped around the lacy curtains, pulling them back and peering out at the property.

Your heart gave a sharp thud.

Your hands felt sweaty.

There, talking to your father by the barn, was Joel Miller. The man you’d been waiting to see for what felt like forever when in reality it’d only been a few days. But he was here and you were going to act on the feelings that had been accumulating.

You changed into a simple white sundress, slipping on a pair of brown boots and braiding your hair into two braids on either side of your head. Right as you were about to leave your room, the makeup on your vanity caught your eye.

You didn’t go anywhere without at least a little on your face. So you quickly brushed on some mascara and swiped some lipgloss on your lips before rushing downstairs.

The television in the living room was playing morning news, your mother sat in her chair with a blanket and a cigarette. Clearly she didn’t remember the conversation you tried having with her yesterday and you were both disappointed and relieved.

She glanced over at you as you went into the kitchen, grabbing a small bite to eat. “You’re up early.”

She was right, of course. Truth was, you would have gone back to sleep if you hadn’t seen Joel outside.

You gave a one shoulder shrug. “Felt like being productive.”

She hummed, taking a drag. The smoke flowed from her mouth as she spoke, “Miller’s over.”

“Is he now?”

“Yeah,” she confirmed what you certainly already knew. “He’s helping your daddy out with some work. Won’t you be a good girl and bring them lemonade or something?”

You tried to smother the smile that crept onto your face. She just gave you the most perfect excuse to go talk to him. “Yes, ma’am.”

As you worked on pouring two glasses of cold lemonade, you looked out the window above the counter through your lashes. Joel was standing by the tractor, nodding along to whatever Rhett was rambling about. He was wearing a navy blue shirt that was hugging his biceps, the veins along his hands prominent as they rested on his hips.

You were done for. There was no reason for him to look that good especially with that salt and pepper hair of his.

With a steadying breath, you headed outside with the two glasses, careful not to spill as you brought them over to the men.

Joel noticed you first and you watched as all the interest he had in what your father was saying quickly vanished. You didn’t know what to make of that so you just gave a sweet smile.

“Hello, boys,” you said, handing your father one glass and when you went to give Joel his, your heart skipped a beat when your fingers brushed against his.

“Mornin’, sweet pea,” Rhett said, giving one braid a small tug. “Joel here’s just helpin’ fix the tractor. But the cats could use some milk.”

You gave a little nod, gaze flickering back to Joel before going off to get the pitcher of milk. A hint of disappointment settled in. Joel didn’t say anything to you. You just assumed it was because your dad was present and he didn’t have time.

However, your goal to get Joel to notice you was still in place.

After grabbing the pitcher, you went over to the barn where the cats had a blanket spread out under a small awning. The kittens mewled, tiny little noises that made you smile.

“Hi, sweeties,” you said in a soft voice, crouching down to pour the milk into a saucer. You gently scratched behind the mom cat’s ear and she purred, leaning into your hand.

Your dress had rode up a little bit on your thighs and you glanced over to see if Joel was looking.

He was not.

Instead, he was bent over the tractor engine, arms working deep within the machinery with a focused expression on his face—wrinkles drawn on his forehead, lips pursed, eyes squinted.

If you were trying to be the distracting one, it clearly had backfired.

You stood back up, bringing a hand to your brow to keep the sun from shining in your eyes as you watched Rhett walk into the storage shed.

You sauntered back over to Joel, smoothing your dress down. “My daddy got you doing the dirty work now?”

Joel looked up, sweat glistening on his temple. He stepped back from the engine, taking a sip of the lemonade you brought him. “All I do is dirty work, darlin’.”

His words sent your thoughts into dangerous territory.

You crossed your arms over your chest, hoping to push up your cleavage. His eyes never strayed lower. Dang it. “He at least paying you?”

He shrugged, turning his back to the tractor and leaning against it, wiping the oil from his sturdy hands with an old rag. “I ain’t here to steal his money.”

You raised your brows. “Then why are you here?”

Joel studied your face for a moment and you couldn’t help but shift nervously on your feet.

“Found ‘em!” Rhett’s voice called out across the way and you felt a bout of anger surge within your chest. He always seemed to be ruining the good moments in your life even though it was just a lot of poor timing.

Joel only turned his attention back to him when he handed him a tool you couldn’t name. “Thanks,” he said bluntly, wiping away the sweat and getting back to work.

Rhett settled his hands on your shoulders, dirty from the farm and you suppressed the urge to shove him off. “I’m glad you came down.”

You glanced back at him. “Why?”

He grinned, showing off yellow teeth that were decaying from years of using chewing tobacco. It made you stifle a grimace. “I’m glad you asked.”

He pulled back, reaching into the pocket of his worn jeans and retrieving a folded piece of paper. “I haven’t been able to make a supply run with your mother having all her doctors appointments.”

You weren’t sure why but your heart eased a little at that. Sure, your parents weren’t nearly as in love as they once were but they still had their moments.

Rhett handed the list to you. “I’d been meanin’ to ask you. But since you’re here, I figured it wouldn’t be a hassle.”

Your eyes went from his to the crumpled paper. You really didn’t want to waste gas or money on supplies your father needed for his farm but you didn’t really have anything to do.

Except impress a certain someone.

You slowly took the paper, reading the list of items. Your brows furrowed. “Where am I supposed to get a carburetor from?”

“Lots of hardware stores carry them but I placed an order from one down in Jacksonville.”

Your eyes widened. “Jacksonville?”

He nodded. “I know it’s far but it’s too annoying to cancel my order.”

“Since when do you even place online orders?” He was always one for doing things the manual way. You were vaguely aware he even had a phone in the first place.

“Don’t talk back, girl,” he said, his voice gruffer even with Joel next to him.

“I wasn’t talking back—”

“Is getting the part a problem or not?”

You let out a sigh. “The drive there is three and a half hours and so is the drive back. That’s six hours all together, daddy.”

Rhett ran a hand over his scruffy beard. “Fine. I’ll pay for gas and food.”

“No need.”

Your eyes snapped to Joel who clearly had been listening in on the conversation. “I’m sorry?”

He folded his thick arms across his broad chest. “There’s no need. I’ll take you.”

Your jaw could’ve fallen to the ground. You clenched your teeth together to prevent that from happening, still having trouble containing your surprise by his candid statement.

Your father seemed just about as shocked as you were. “Why, Joel, I think she can manage herself…”

Joel shook his head. “I’m sure she could but that highways no joke. Besides, wouldn’t hurt to have a navigator.”

Rhett seemed to consider this before nodding again. “Well, then, long as you keep my little girl safe then I don’t see a problem with it.”

Joel looked at you when he said, “she’s in good hands.”

You folded the paper back up and gestured towards the house, all the argument dying out of you. “I’ll go get my things.”

Feeling a nervousness take flight in your stomach, you scurried back up to the house, opening the screen door with a little too much force.

Your mother was laughing over some sitcom but the sound was more of a wheezing hack. She glanced over at you as you made a beeline for the stairs, focused on grabbing your purse and leaving.

“Why are you in such a hurry?” She asked, lighting up yet another cigarette.

“Supply run,” you answered, “daddy’s makin’ me go all the way to Jacksonville.”

“Jacksonville?” She echoed just like you had.

“That’s what I said.”

She let out a scoff, inhaling the nicotine before itching her cheek. “Well, forecast said there’s a storm blowing in. You might wanna pack a bag just in case you get caught up in it.”

Great. A storm. How convenient.

You huffed, the heat and the situation starting to grate your nerves before you remembered Joel was going to be with you. Which meant maybe the storm would give you more time with him even if you were going to be on the road with him for six hours.

You grabbed a pink ballet duffel bag from forever ago, tossing in perfume and deodorant along with your keys and a jacket. You considered the possibility of being stranded by the storm and bit your lip as you contemplated on whether or not to be prepared for a late night stop.

Despite you probably being absolutely delusional, you added a light pink nightgown to the mix before zipping it up and heading back down.

Before you could make it out the door, your mother called, “don’t take the Cadillac!”

You stopped abruptly. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“‘S too pretty to take on the highway.”

You supposed she had a point. “Alright, momma. I’ll see you later,” you said, blowing a kiss.

You headed back outside and sure enough, you spotted a patch of gray clouds. They didn’t look too ominous yet but you knew they’d get heavier as the day went on.

Joel was already by his truck and you assumed that was the vehicle of choice by default. You walked over to him, noticing his clean hands he must’ve rinsed off.

Rhett gave your back a firm pat and looked at Joel. “Keep her safe, Miller. If those clouds get worse, let me know.”

“Will do,” Joel said bluntly before you slipped away from your father, eager to get away for a while.

Once you and Joel were seated in his truck, you tossed your bag into the backseat and sighed. “I’m sorry I roped you into this. I could’ve gone by myself.”

Joel put the truck in drive, heading down the dirt path leading to the main road. “I offered, darlin’.”

For some reason, you didn’t ask why. You didn’t want a repeat of what happened last time. You’re my friends kid. Those words still spun in your head like a broken record.

“What’s on the list anyway?” Joel questioned, leaning back in the drivers seat with a wrist draped over the wheel.

You unfolded the paper from your dress pocket and skimmed your father’s messy handwriting. “Tools, I’m guessing. And that stupid carburetor thing we’re driving three hours for.”

Joel glimpsed over at you. He felt guilty for the thoughts that had been on his mind since he saw you earlier today. You looked so soft and pretty sitting there in his passenger side, your cheeks flushed from the heat and hair a tad frizzy from the sudden humidity.

He also had to admit he found it quite adorable that you had no idea what you were talking about. The confident little Miss America who was confused over mechanic tools.

“Well let’s hope we don’t get rained on,” he said, leaning forward a little bit to look at the cloud filled sky. When he settled again, he gestured to the glovebox. “There’s some old cd’s in there if you want to look at any.”

You set the list aside and opened the glovebox. You were going to be here for three and a half hours and you did not want to spend it in awkward silence.

You wanted to make conversation but now that you were finally next to him, you had no idea what to say.

As you went through the old cd’s, you found the need to tell him what happened. “I’m not with that guy anymore.”

Joel remained silent. It made you swallow nervously.

It was almost as if he knew you just needed to get something off your chest and he was more than willing to listen.

“He was a douchebag, just like the rest of them. I should’ve known. Well… I did know. But I guess it doesn’t make a difference.” You let out a frustrated huff of air, pulling out an old Elvis album. “Point being, your brother and sister in law helped me.”

His eyes stayed locked on the road as he focused on merging onto the highway but inside, he had a million questions.

“Tommy?”

“No, Richard,” you said sarcastically, sliding the cd into the player. “Of course it was Tommy.”

“What’d he do?”

You slid off your boots and curled your feet up on the seat and it brought you back to the night. “Well Randy was just being rude and Tommy… punched him in the jaw.”

Joel rubbed a hand over his jaw. “My word, kid.”

Deep down, Joel was mad. Not at you. Never at you. But at any man who thought they had the right to shame you and especially in the humiliating manner it came in. The boy at the farmers market, your father, and now this Randy guy? He was sick of it even though he felt he had no right to be.

And underneath that brewing anger was a hint of jealousy. He loved his brother dearly but some protective part of him wanted to be the one defending you. The one who got to sock that disrespectful guy in the face.

You, on the other hand, thought he might see the issue as immature. “Maria helped me outside. You should be very grateful you have her as a part of your family now.”

You didn’t elaborate further. You felt embarrassment and shame as you sunk further into the seat, wishing you’d kept your mouth shut.

Joel sighed before saying, “I’m glad he did, sweetheart. But maybe it’s time you… stayed away from those douchebags.”

You didn’t know what you were expecting but it wasn’t that. “You’re probably right.”

Just like that, you remembered exactly why you had developed feelings for Joel. He didn’t shame you. Didn’t yell at you for being the way you were. Just provided a grounding presence for you to lean into.

The first three hours seemed to go by quickly. Well, only because you managed to fall asleep against the door at an odd and uncomfortable position. You ran a hand over your face as you woke up, staring at the passing scenery.

Eventually, Joel pulled up to the hardware store with the address Rhett had sent him.

“Here already?” You asked, mouth dry and skin feeling clammy from your nap.

“Mhm,” Joel hummed before unbuckling and getting out of the truck. You reached for your seatbelt and the list but before you could open the door, Joel beat you to it.

You felt those butterflies stir again as you slipped out, fixing your rumpled dress and thanking him.

The two of you headed inside, the smell of sawdust and wood filling your nose. You grabbed a basket before looking at the list. “Okay, first up… socket wrench.”

You had no idea what that was. Yes, you grew up on a farm but you now understand why your father kept Joel around to decipher what was to be used in fixing machinery and utilities.

Joel saw the cluelessness in your eyes, how you tried so hard to sound like you knew what you were talking about but falling short.

He walked forward and you scampered along behind him, knowing he knew his way around a store like this. Within minutes there a shiny new socket wrench in the basket. “What’s next?”

It became a short routine. You told him what was on the list, he’d find it, and in the basket it went.

Once it was filled with the needed items, Joel waited for an employee to assist him with figuring out where the carburetor was. You rocked back and forth on your heels, feeling lighter now that you were out of town for a little while. And with Joel.

When the man finally came over, he didn’t seem to notice you at first until you started to follow him and Joel to the back of the store. He was obviously trying to be discreet about checking you out but was failing miserably.

You didn’t mind so much now that you had Joel with you who acted as a human shield if need be.

The carburetor box was placed in Joel’s hands and as the man assisting him led you to the front to check out, that’s when the inevitable questions came out.

“She yours?” The man asked while scanning a tool.

Usually that sort of question would offend you. You didn’t belong to anyone and yet a part of you didn’t mind as long as it was Joel. But at the end of the day, you were just his friend’s daughter.

Joel, however, had a different strategy.

“She ain’t mine,” he answered, sorting through his wallet. “Not in the way you’re suggesting, anyway.”

You were confused as to what he meant and then it dawned on you—the man was insinuating that you were his daughter.

Your eyes darted to Joel but his impenetrable mask of indifference was too difficult to decipher.

The man’s face paled and he rung up the items without another peep.

When you two left the store, you still couldn’t believe what he said. You didn’t think he’d ever want anything romantic to do with you, especially after the way he’d been acting.

The rain had begun but it was only light sprinkles. You should’ve been able to make it back before the downpour started.

As Joel loaded the last of the bags into the backseat, he noticed the ballet duffle. You had prepared for this little excursion. Something about that made his insides twist.

You were young, he knew that. You were his friends daughter, not to be messed with anymore than you already had.

And yet, an aching part of him wanted to give you everything you needed and more.

The cab of the truck was quiet. You didn’t want it to be. There was a three and a half hour drive ahead of you and you weren’t going to spend it in awkward silence.

“Not in the way you might think?” You spoke up, a sly smile playing on your lips. You were good at harmless, playful flirting so why would Joel be any different?

He barely glanced at you as he pulled out of the parking lot. “He needed to back off.”

You raised your brows and your heart did that thing again. “Well it certainly worked. But what if that was my future husband?”

Joel wanted to pretend you didn’t say that. He couldn’t stand the thought of yet another pathetic little boy wasting your time. He knew he probably wasn’t the better option but he knew he’d never intentionally do anything to hurt you.

“Then the wedding will be postponed,” he grumbled, keeping his eyes on the road.

You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. “How tragic that would be.”

Soft rain droplets began to splatter on the wind shield as you put in a Johnny Cash cd and turned it up. You began to sing along, only knowing the lyrics because your father used to sing them with your grandfather before he passed.

Joel found it helplessly endearing. He didn’t care if you were off key, he could’ve listened to your voice all day if only he was the one it was for. Not so long ago he had been at the funeral of your grandfather. Back then he wouldn’t have noticed you although he did recall you taking secret sips from a flask to drown your grief.

The highway was getting congested now, cars bumper to bumper as the storm grew heavier.

“Damn it,” Joel grunted under his breath, lightly smacking the steering wheel before leaning back and putting his fingers to his hairline.

You looked over at him, seeing the patience wear thin on his aged face. “Is it because of the storm?”

Joel gestured at the long stretch of cars. “Someone must’ve spun out. Roads are gettin’ slick and my bet is they were drivin’ too damn fast and lost control.”

His frustrated old man rant made you stifle a laugh. You turned your head, looking out the window at all the stopped cars.

Dark clouds completely covered the sky now and the wind was picking up. This wasn’t just rain, it seemed to be a whole thunderstorm rolling in.

You let out a sharp gasp as you watched a tree branch get blown onto the hood of someone’s car. “Joel—”

He let out a ragged expletive before his eyes began searching for the nearest exit. “Call your father. Tell him we gotta wait out the storm.”

You nodded, pulling out your phone and ringing your father. He didn’t answer so you just sent a quick text explaining the situation you and Joel found yourselves in.

Slowly but surely you two made it to the exit, driving until you reached a small gas station. The lights illuminating the lot buzzed and you could see bugs flying around in it.

Joel parked by the gas pump before unbuckling. “Stay here.”

He didn’t elaborate and you didn’t have time to ask as he hopped out, making a beeline for the gas station entrance.

You sighed, locking the doors and watching as the wind nearly bent the trees in half. Leaves blew onto the windshield and the wipers swatted them away rhythmically.

Secretly, you had been hoping the storm would get to this point. You wanted every excuse you could get to have more time with Joel.

As soon as he left, Joel was back, getting into the truck. His shirt now had rain darkening in small spots in the fabric but he didn’t seem to mind. He dropped a plastic bag on the seat between you.

Unable to hide your curiosity, you reached for it. Inside you found two bottles of water and some snacks.

You cast a look up at him. “What’s this for?”

He had already put the truck in drive again. “We gotta find some place to stay. Figured that’d be dinner.”

You blinked at him as it registered to you what he was suggesting. “You mean… we’re not going back to Austin?”

“Not tonight.”

Joel was probably being dramatic. Well, not dramatic. He was just taking advantage of the opportunity that had been presented to him by the weather. He had you right there in his passenger seat, blinking at him with curiosity.

He’d get right back on the highway if you told him you wanted to go back home.

But deep down, neither of you wanted that.

You sat back in your seat, trying to hide the giddiness bubbling into your chest. This was practically a dream come true.

He drove around until he came across a motel. It was one story, two buildings settled on either side of the main one. The flickering sign read vacancy and even if it wasn’t ideal, it was still somewhere to seek shelter from the storm.

The truck came to a stop in a parking spot before the two of you got out. You became very aware that you were wearing a white dress and bolted for the door.

Joel wasn’t too far behind you, the little bell above the door signaling your arrival.

Chills shot up your arms as you stepped into the lobby from the air conditioning, making everything feel humid. The floors were surprisingly made of wooden planks, a large plum colored rug spanning the width of the room. A sofa sat on one wall with a table in front of it, magazines spread out on the surface.

You ignored the staleness of the air and the slight smell of mildew as you stepped up to the front counter where a woman sat behind it.

Joel cleared his throat. “Two rooms, please.”

Her eyebrows slowly raised in boredom as she glanced from you to Joel. “Two?”

You fiddled with the hem of your dress, looking anywhere but at her. Again with people making it awkward for you two. Yeah, your crush on Joel was getting bad but you were good at not letting it show.

At least you thought you were.

“Yes, two,” Joel confirmed, pulling out his credit card.

The woman shrugged, checking the ledger.

Joel glanced down at you, watching as you again rocked back and forth on your heels. Gosh, you were so adorable he couldn’t take it.

“Well,” she said slowly. “Unfortunately you two aren’t the only ones escaping the storm and I only have one available room left.”

His attention was pulled back and he schooled his features quickly. “Only one? You don’t have any others that room service can clean up real quick?”

The woman gave him a unamused look. “It don’t work like that. Now, do you want the room or not?”

Joel knew he should’ve said no. Sleeping in the truck didn’t seem all that bad but the sharp pain in his lower back didn’t seem to agree. Sharing a room with you alone was dangerous for him.

He caught the way you kept looking at him. Maybe you looked at all men that way and he was too old to feel special about it. But some other part of him recognized that look—you felt safe with him.

And that’s what he promised your father.

“We’ll take the room.”

Your heart could’ve grown wings and flew out the window to be taken with the wind.

One night alone with Joel Miller in a beat up motel room. Your legs suddenly felt shaky just at the thought of it. This was everything you wanted. Everything you needed to finally remove the dead end of your life and figure out if this was the man that would take you further.

Joel was the man you wanted. The one you needed. The only one who’d ever treated you like a woman instead of an object to be toyed with.

You two stepped outside and Joel insisted you stay dry under the awning while he grabbed the bags from the truck.

You stood in front of the room’s door, the wind pulling strands of hair from your braids. Joel moved like the storm was nothing but a minor inconvenience, shutting the door once your duffel bag and the one from the store was in his hands.

“Here,” he said, handing you the keys to the room.

You unlocked it, stepping inside and leaving the storm behind you. Joel followed, placing the bags down on the small table in front of the window.

You took in the small space, examining the floral wallpaper and the matching comforter and sheet set. One queen sized bed sat in the middle of the room and your heart skipped a beat.

Joel ran a hand through his damp hair. “Go dry up then if you’re hungry you can have a bite to eat.”

You snapped out of whatever daydream you were in before nodding. With shaky fingers you unzipped your bag and pulled out the nightgown you had brought.

You wondered if Joel thought you were dumb for preparing for this without even knowing if it’d storm.

But clearly you hadn’t been as delusional as you thought you’d been.

You went into the dingy bathroom, the light flickering unsteadily. You took off your boots, leaving on your socks as you traded your dress for the pink nightgown.

You looked into the mirror, smoothing your manicured hands over the soft fabric. The lacy hem brushed against your thighs, the top curved around your breasts secured with a tiny bow in the middle.

You wore things like this to bed every night so what was the problem now?

Attempting to brush off your nerves, you stepped out, your folded dress in one hand and your boots in the other.

Joel felt like he wasn’t supposed to see this.

You looked so beautiful in that nightgown, your hair loose out of the braids, the frilly socks on your feet. He’d never seen you as a girl who looked fragile but right now he thought he’d break you with a single touch.

You set your boots down and put the dress in the duffel before he finally managed to look away.

“Here,” he said gruffly, handing you a sandwich. “Not much but it’s something.”

“Thank you, Joel,” you replied quietly, taking the sandwich from him before tentatively sitting on the edge of the bed.

The springs creaked beneath you as you unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite. Joel didn’t touch his, instead going into the bathroom and locking the door.

He had to get a grip on himself.

She’s your friend’s daughter he kept repeating to himself as if that would get his heart to stop responding to the way you made it thump.

It was no use. His mind kept pushing the image of you to the forefront of his eyes, curves looking so soft under that thin fabric.

Tonight was going to be long.

You had finished the sandwich by the time he re-emerged. You threw the trash away before sitting back in your spot. “I have a question.”

Joel leaned back against the television stand across from you, crossing his arms like he wasn’t struggling to keep his composure. “And what’s that, darling?”

“Why did you start helping my father out?”

Out of all questions, he was not expecting that.

He gave a shrug. “I know he ain’t the best man ever but I’ve known him for a long time. He’s gettin’ older, we all are, and he asked for my help. There was no reason to deny him.”

You had to admit you didn’t think of it that way before. You nodded, crossing your ankles.

When the silence came back, you knew this was the only time you’d get to voice what had been eating at you for weeks now.

“Joel?”

“Hmm?”

You took a steadying breath, forcing your eyes to meet his. But this time, you didn’t give him those eyes other boys were so used to.

“That night of the farmers market in your truck… that meant a lot to me.”

That meant more to Joel than he let on. He shifted slightly in place. “I’m glad I could help, sweetheart.”

You looked down at your lap, unsure of what to say next. This was your one chance to tell him what you’d been feeling. But you’d never been good with words. Everything you got you used your body to get it. That’s apparently anyone ever saw you as.

You leaned back a little, subtly, just enough to let your nightgown cling to the curves of your body.

Joel was hanging on by a thread. Only once or twice had he let his thoughts drift to what it’d be like to run his hands over your soft body, to feel you under his hands that didn’t deserve to hold anything so precious.

“You don’t gotta do that.” He spoke through gritted teeth, his voice nearly cracking with restraint.

Your heart sank. “Do what?”

He pinned you with a hard stare. “You know what.”

Then your patience snapped. You had gotten everything you wanted just by flaunting yourself about but you never realized how frustrating it was when you had to work for it.

And it irritated you just as much that you secretly loved that he wasn’t easily giving into you.

You let out a frustrated huff.

Then it all came spilling out.

“What is it, Joel?” You said rather harshly. “Am I too young? Am I too naive? It can’t be. Every other men would’ve jumped at me so what is it? Don’t make me embarrass myself anymore. Please. If I’m reading this wrong… just tell me.”

Joel’s heart ached. He didn’t want you to feel like that. But he didn’t want to mess this up even though he felt like that was already happening.

You blinked at him, almost feeling humiliated again. “Why’d you bring me here?”

Joel went ridged.

You cleared your throat, trying to gain some confidence back. “You would’ve gone home if I wasn’t in the truck so tell me now why did you bring me here?”

Just like that, he’d been caught red handed. You were right, of course, he would’ve gone back to Austin in the storm if you hadn’t been with him.

His silence was driving you mad. You hit your hand against the side of the mattress. “Damn it! Say something—!”

Joel pushed off the counter faster than you could blink and suddenly rough hands were cupping your face and lips were crashing against yours.

Your heart slammed hard in your chest. For a second, you were stunned.

Joel Miller was kissing you.

And you’d be dumb to not kiss him back.

Your hands flew to his broad shoulders, feeling the scorching heat of him radiating through his shirt. Joel wasn’t rushing, his lips moving slow against yours and when you opened your mouth to him, he licked into it in such a languid way that had heat blooming through your lower stomach.

This wasn’t those kisses you had with those other men who acted as if you’d pull away at any given moment.

Even with his musky scent clogging your nose and his tongue tasting yours and his heat warming your cold skin, he was making it known that this was your choice.

When Joel pulled back, his face stayed close to yours and you couldn’t suck enough air into your lungs.

One of his hands moved, gently brushing a piece of hair behind your ear. “I brought you here because I couldn’t stand seein’ you with those boys anymore,” he said, his voice deep and low only for you. “And right now, you don’t have to pretend anymore. Not with me.”

Just like before, your eyes softened and you felt like you could cry. So it wasn’t all in your head.

“Joel…” you whispered, fingers grazing his collar.

“Yeah, sweet girl?”

The nickname made your skin go hot.

Your gaze roamed over his weathered face and it made your longing for his touch feel consuming. “You know what everyone will say.”

Of course he’d thought about that. That’s the first thing that had crossed his mind when those feelings for you came about. He knew everyone knew the farmer’s daughter, knew that the whole town just about recognized your name. They’d look down on an older man being with a girl younger than him.

“I know.” Joel murmured, pulling back his hands.

You quickly grabbed them. “I don’t care,” you said firmly. “You know me, Joel. You know I’ve been with older men. I’m just worried about what they’ll say about you.”

Joel was taken aback. You were worried about what people would say about him? He wasn’t expecting that. But when it came down to it, he wanted this.

He wanted you.

That wasn’t going to change just because some people didn’t agree.

“I’m a grown man, baby.” He stroked a thumb over your cheekbone. “They can talk but I’m not letting you go. Just let me take care of my pretty girl.”

I’m not letting you go.

You slid your hands up his forearms, tears pricking your eyes. Joel didn’t need another word. He put his hands beneath your arms and gently lifted you further onto the bed. He followed, slipping off his boots and crawling over you.

Looking at him hovering over you made your stomach flip with butterflies. You’d been with many men but Joel was different. He made you feel special in a way no one else had before.

His rough hand caressed your cheek, those dark eyes tracing your features. For once, you didn’t feel the need to take off any clothes. You just wanted him here, with you, holding you like you weren’t just another body to be had.

Joel leaned down slowly, holding himself up on one hand beside your head while the other slowly trailed down to your waist. He traced slow circles as his mouth lowered to yours.

Your lips parted and his tongue gently dipped into your mouth if only for a second. Every movement was made with care.

His lips sealed against yours once more, his beard scratching against your face in the most delicious way possible. You sighed, feeling like an ice cream cone in the hot sun as you melted into the rough sheets of the motel bed.

The storm outside sounded like white noise as Joel kissed you, deep and loving in a way you never felt before. His fingertips grazed against your thigh, not in a sexual manner but more like he was learning you. Mapping every surface of smooth skin and soft curves he wanted to know every road to.

Here there was no Randy. Here your father was miles away. Here your mother didn’t parade around in your head.

It was just Joel.

Carefully, he moved down to press featherlight kisses to your jaw and then your neck. “This okay, baby?” He murmured softly.

For a moment you were too speechless to say anything. You slid your fingers into his graying curls. “Yes. More than okay.”

Joel wasn’t taking. He was giving. That was something unfamiliar to you.

He kissed further down, keeping everything over your nightgown. His kisses left your heart a fluttery mess, making you curl your toes inside those frilly socks.

Joel finally reached your thighs, one large hand settled on top of your knee, pulling it aside gently to reach the inside. You let out a shaky breath and then a small little laugh.

He grinned against your skin. “You ticklish, darlin’?”

Your smile widened. No one had ever picked up on that before. “Little bit.”

Joel returned your look of happiness, a smile so rare you didn’t even know he was capable of it.

He reached down, lightly tugging on the sock. “Cute,” he muttered before sliding his hand back up your leg and moving back over you.

This time, you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face as you cupped the back of his neck. “Do we ever have to go back?”

Joel brushed his nose against yours. “I don’t know. This motel room might not be so bad long as you never leave this bed.”

You laughed, real and unrestrained. “Well then,” you said, batting your lashes playfully. “Consider me incapable of walking ever again.”

He pinched your side just a little bit before kissing you as your foot accidentally nailed the back of his leg. It didn’t hurt. But he knew you’d still try to say sorry anyway.

For one moment, everything felt right. You were just a girl who finally found someone to care. He was just a man who was more than willing to give it to you.

For once, you wanted him to be the one to take you home.

tag list!! ~ @gingermars830 @ang3lface333 @joelmillersbabygirll @entoxicant @keylimebeag @billionairecowgirl @taniamiller @allissah @angelskissinspring9 @mossunderthenightsky @tojis-little-brat @millersgirllllllll @lizziegorgeous @anitdot @facethepascal @seasonofthewitchsworld @vickie5446

[robinavitchslut]

I need sweet sweet morning sex with dbf robby (or uncle!robby if you want)

morning sex with dbf!robby wc: 1.1k warnings/tags: unprotected piv, age gap, robby calls r! 'sweet little girl', creampie, morning sex, masturbation (f!), kinda uncle!robby if u wanna squint but r! doesn't call him that, daddy kink

where you’re on vacation together with your family, you’re sharing a room, the 2 bedroom airbnb was cheaper, claimed robby who paid for the vacation—it definitely wasn’t just because he knew your parents would want a room to themselves which left him all alone with you.

some time in the night you ended up climbing into bed with him after a noise outside the window frightened you and you couldn’t get back to sleep—robby was more than happy to offer you his arms to sleep in, he’s just such a nice guy.

the feeling of something hard prodding your ass wakes you up first, you wiggle against it, trying to figure out what it is and it’s not until robby lets out a quiet groan in his sleep and wraps his arms around you tighter do you actually realise—robby’s got morning wood.

you reach your hand around behind you just to make sure and yep, robby’s hard, rock hard.

heat rises in your stomach, wetness already dripping down your thighs, you know it’s just a thing that happens to guys, doesn’t necessarily mean he’s attracted to you but you can’t help thinking it as you slip your hand between your legs, softly rolling your ass against his clothed erection.

it’s not long before robby’s eyes are fluttering open, disoriented and confused as to why he feels so good, takes him a second or two to realise what’s going on, what you’re doing, it’s not until he hears a quiet moan leave your lips that’s he realises you’re getting yourself off right there in bed next to him.

he thinks he must still be asleep, stuck in a wet dream, surely he can’t be this lucky? one hand slips down your body, meeting your own between your legs—nope, you really are touching yourself in his arms.

he goes back and forth with himself for a moment, should he pretend to be asleep and let you get on with it? would you stop if you knew he was awake? but it’s impossible to ignore the aching between his own legs anymore.

“mm, mornin’ sweetheart” he huffs, his voice so gravelly from just waking up, he nuzzles his face into the back of your neck, pressing himself harder into your ass that’s still writhing against him.

to his surprise you don’t freeze up, don’t stop, just let out another small moan as his deep, raspy morning voice goes right through you, sending a jolt of electricity straight to your pussy.

“morning mikey” you bite your lip, your eyes rolling back slightly when you feel the way his cock twitches against your ass when you say his name.

“feelin’ achy this morning, huh? need any help?” he asks between pressing soft kisses to the back of your neck, your back arches against him as the rough scratch of his beard tickles your sensitive skin.

you’re already reaching one hand around to pull on the waistband of his pajama pants before you even answer with a soft, “yes please, mikey, if that’s okay?”

he lets out a gruff chuckle as he pulls his pants down the rest of the way, “such a polite girl, i’d be happy to”

you get rid of your own pajama shorts, tossing them off the side of the bed before resuming your position, robby’s cock slips between your soaked folds and he can’t help the groan that escapes him when he feels how wet you already are for him.

“all of this for me? should’ve woken me up sweetheart, would’ve taken care of this for you, such a pretty girl like you shouldn’t have to get herself off”

he slips inside with a deep gasp after a couple more passes through your folds, he didn’t really mean to, wanted to tease you a little longer, wanted you begging for him but you’re so wet his cock just slipped right into your tight hole.

one hand finds your waist, his other gripping your neck, not tight, just holding you still as he rolls his hips against your ass.

your legs being pressed together as you lay on your side makes the fit even tighter and robby knows he won’t last—not when he’s so sensitive from just waking up.

his hand on your waist slides down your front, his long fingers find your clit easily and he rubs soft circles against it matching the gentle pace of his slow thrusts.

you let out a loud moan, too loud and his hand on your neck flies up to cover your mouth, “gotta be quiet, yeah, sweetheart, don’t want to wake your parents up do we?”

you shake your head as robby slips his fingers into your mouth, giving you something to bite down on as the speed of his thrusts increases, his hips snapping harder against your ass, his fingers moving quicker against your throbbing clit, pressing in harder.

“feels s’fucking good, baby, gonna cum for me? need to feel my sweet little girl cum on my big cock” he groans through gritted teeth, his jaw tight as he fucks you harder, pulling almost all the way out before slamming himself back in on every single thrust.

you nod and whine out “mhm, y-yes daddy”, it's muffled by robby’s fingers in your mouth but he hears it, it’s almost enough to send him over the edge but he needs to get you there first, needs to feel you cum all over him.

he doesn’t have to wait too long though before your cunt is contracting around him, squeezing him so tight, milking him as your body shakes and you bite down hard on his fingers, drool leaking from the corners of your mouth as you let go, waves of pleasure washing over you at last.

robby follows suit immediately, his hips stuttering, quiet curses leaving his lips that are muffled against your neck as he spills himself inside of you, filling you up so deep, you can feel the warmth of his release inside of you, can feel when it seeps out around his cock, dripping down your legs, making a mess of the both of you.

he doesn’t pull out straight away, just holds you close, the soft roundness of his tummy filling the curve of your back as he wraps his arms around you, kissing all over your neck.

“feel better, sweetheart?” he asks after a minute or two, you nod in response, feeling a little shy after being so intimate with him but you let out a soft “thank you” regardless.

robby smiles against your neck, endeared by your politeness even after you came so beautifully undone all over his cock.

“of course, any time you need help you can come to me, okay? i’m more than happy to help out my sweet sweet girl”

taglist ⋆˚꩜｡ @imfinnabeinthepitt-2025 @robinaabb0t @mapping-out-skies @diilfluvrr @cerealov3r @sasha-37 @popecodysgirl @sunny-1-3 @strangemar @unicvnthlle @mrs-depp @moonlitblossomsofthesun @yournamesnob @bloodink94 @thatgreenlight @cod-guys-slvt @robinavitchgf @quicksilver21 @plsdrabbot @scootlerdoodler @aerangi @glitter-abbot @httpfatherhowo @wylde-goblin-girl @rufles2 @everythingabby101 @miniswritinblog @swndmans @mira-xx @puppyboy-khali @batcat46 @proudlyvastlake @saccrificio @joelmillerswifey @marvgrrl @generation-zero @kittymeowmeow17 @bikinibottomspeach @myescapefromthislife

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robby masterlist

[dirtylittlediary]

way past appropriate - dr robby

pairing : dr robby x f!reader

summary : everyone knows you and robby are like two magnets, pulled together and destined to be together. everyone except the two of you, apparently.

word count : 10.1 k

warnings : mentions of blood, passing out, smut, p in v, semi-public sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up), 18 +, MDNI , implied aged gap , fingering

a/n: as usual, not proofread !

The waiting room looks like hell.

Not metaphorically. Literally.

Too bright. Too loud. Too many people packed shoulder-to-shoulder beneath fluorescent lights that wash everyone the same sick shade of exhausted gray. A toddler screams somewhere near triage. Somebody vomits into a plastic bag near the reception desk. EMTs burst through the ambulance bay doors every six minutes carrying fresh disasters like offerings.

And over all of it: the constant overhead paging.

The ER never really sleeps. It just bleeds into the next catastrophe.

“You got a room for a possible bowel perf?” a paramedic barks, already wheeling the patient forward.

“Trauma Two,” You answer automatically without looking up from your chart.

“Trauma Two’s occupied.”

“Then hallway bed six.”

“That guy’s psych hold.”

“Then put him literally anywhere with oxygen and a pulse ox.” The paramedic grins tiredly.

“That’s why I like you.”

“Yeah, well, poor judgment’s a recurring theme around here.”Behind you, a familiar voice cuts through the noise immediately.

“She flirts with everybody before midnight. Don’t take it personal.”

You don't have to turn around to know it’s Dr. Robby. Still, your stomach betrays you anyway.

Stupid thing.

The paramedic laughs.

“Damn, Robby. Possessive tonight.”

“That’s not what this is,” Robby mutters immediately.

You finally glance up. Big mistake. He looks exhausted. Not regular exhausted. Hospital exhausted. The kind that settles into the bones after too many double shifts and too many people dying under your hands no matter how fast you work. His dark curls are damp at the temples from hours under harsh ER heat, scrub top wrinkled, stethoscope hanging crooked around his neck. And still— still unfairly handsome. You hate that about him.

Hatesthat after fourteen hours on shift he can still look across a trauma bay and make your brain briefly stop functioning like a licensed medical professional. The paramedic wheels off laughing. Robby steps into the space beside you immediately, eyes dropping to the chart in your hands.

“You re-order the labs on Bed Nine?”

“Mmhm.”

“He needs another lactate.”

“Already done." Robby’s mouth twitches faintly.

Of course it is.

Working with him became dangerous months ago.

Not because he’s difficult. The opposite.

Because somewhere along the line the two of you became… this.

Too synced up. Too aware of each other. Too comfortable.

You know how he takes his coffee. He knows when your migraines start before you say anything. You hand him instruments before he asks during procedures. He automatically moves people out of your path during traumas without even looking.

Nobody misses it. Especially not Dana.

“You two are way past appropriate,” she muttered three shifts ago while watching you two argue over a chest tube placement like a divorced couple.

You laughed.

Robby didn't.

Now he leans slightly over your shoulder, scanning the chart.

“You eat yet?” There it is. Every damn shift. You keep your eyes on the paperwork.

“I had coffee.”

“That ain’t food.”

“It has nutritional value emotionally.”

“Cute.” His tone flattens immediately. “Eat somethin’.” You scribble another note onto the chart.

“Yes, dad.” Robby sighs through his nose. Not annoyed. Worse. Concerned.

“Seriously.”

“I’m fine.”

“You said that six hours ago.”

“And look.” You gesture vaguely at yourself. “Still vertical.” His eyes flick over your face briefly. Too briefly for anybody else to notice. Long enough for you to feel it anyway.

“You got that headache again?” he asks quietly. You blink.

“How the hell do you always know that?”

“Because you rub your temple every thirty seconds when it starts.” your hand drops immediately away from your face. Robby’s expression shifts just slightly.

Victory.

Tiny.

Private.

Dangerous.

Before either of you can say another word, the overhead speakers crackle violently:

“CODE TRAUMA. MULTIPLE GSWs EN ROUTE. ETA THREE MINUTES.”

The entire ER changes shape instantly. Everybody moves. Nurses sprint toward trauma bays. Stretchers reposition. Gloves snap on. The easy rhythm of conversation disappears beneath adrenaline and practiced chaos. Robby is already moving.

“So much for food,” you mutter.

“You’re still eatin’ after this,” he throws over his shoulder.

“You can’t legally force me.”

“I know where your locker is.”

You snort despite yourself and follow him into Trauma One. Three minutes later the ambulance bay doors explode open. And suddenly nobody has time to breathe anymore. The first patient crashes before the second stretcher even clears the ambulance bay.

“Twenty-three-year-old male,” the paramedic shouts while helping transfer the body over. “Multiple GSWs to the chest and abdomen, lost pulse twice in transport—”

“We got him,” Robby cuts in immediately. And just like that, he changes. Not physically. Something else. The warmth disappears first. The dry humor. The tired little almost-smiles he only really gives staff he trusts. Everything narrows into sharp-edged focus so complete it almost feels frightening to witness up close.

“Tube him,” he orders. You’re already moving before he finishes speaking.

“On it." The room erupts into controlled chaos around you. Monitors screaming. Gloves snapping. Blood everywhere. The patient looks young. Too young. Baby-faced beneath the oxygen mask, skin already going gray around the lips. Robby climbs onto the side rail slightly to get better leverage while assessing the chest wounds.

“No breath sounds left side.”

“Tension pneumo?” you ask.

“Looks like it.” He points instantly. “Needle.” You slap the decompression needle into his waiting hand before the nurse beside you can even react. Robby doesn’t look at you when he takes it. Doesn’t need to. That’s the problem. You work together too well now. A hiss of trapped air escapes the patient’s chest.

“Pressure’s tanking,” Langdon says.

“How bad?”

“Seventy systolic.”

“Blood now.” You move automatically, cutting through clothing while Robby barks orders over the noise. Another stretcher bursts through the doors behind you.

Second GSW. Teenager this time. Jesus Christ.

“Trauma Two ready?” Dana yells.

“No,” you answer immediately. “Use Three.”

“We need you in there too.” You glance toward Robby instinctively. Big mistake. Because he’s already looking at you. Just for a second. Long enough for that familiar awareness to pass silently between you both beneath the chaos.

Go.

You peel away instantly toward the second trauma bay. The teenager is conscious at least. Barely. Crying. Blood soaking through both hands where he’s trying to hold pressure against his own stomach.

“Hey, hey—look at me,” you say firmly while climbing beside the stretcher. “Stay with me.”

“I don’t wanna die,” he chokes out immediately. God. You hate when they say that.

“You’re not gonna die.”

“You promise?” You don’t answer fast enough. Because nobody smart makes promises in an ER. Behind you, through the open trauma bay doors, you can still hear Robby running his room like a battlefield commander.

“Push epi.”

“Again.”

“Clear.” The defibrillator cracks loud enough to echo. Your own patient starts crashing ten minutes later. Then everything becomes movement again. Blood transfusions. Suction. Pressure. Yelling.

At some point somebody presses a protein bar into your scrub pocket without explanation. You already know it was Robby. You don’t even have to look. Two hours pass like that. Then three. The teenager survives surgery. The first patient doesn’t. You know the exact second Robby loses him because the entire energy of Trauma One changes. The noise drops. Voices lower. A silence settles that only really exists in hospitals after death. You finish dictating notes at the nurses’ station forty minutes later with aching shoulders and blood dried stiff across your scrub sleeves. The ER has calmed slightly. Not quiet. Never quiet. But survivable. You rub at your eyes tiredly while signing discharge paperwork.

“You didn’t eat that.” Your head lifts immediately. Robby stands beside the desk holding the untouched protein bar from your pocket. Shit.

“I forgot.”

“You forgot for three hours?”

“It was busy.”

“It’s always busy.” You sigh dramatically and reach for the bar. He doesn’t hand it over yet.

“Robby.”

“You get dizzy again?”

“No.”

“You lyin’?”

“…maybe a little.” His jaw tightens. Not angry. Worried. Again. You hate how much that affects you.

“I’m fine,” you insist more quietly this time.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “That phrase means absolutely nothin’ when it comes outta your mouth anymore.” Before you can answer, Dana walks past carrying charts and immediately stops dead seeing the two of you standing too close again.

“Oh my God,” she says flatly.

You blink. “What?”

“This.” She gestures vaguely between you both. “Whatever weird emotionally repressed slow-burn nonsense this is.” Robby pinches the bridge of his nose immediately.

“Dana—”

“No, seriously. It’s painful.” She points at you. “You look at him like he personally hung the moon.” Your entire soul leaves your body.

“Excuse me?”

“And Robby looks at her like somebody put a live grenade in his chest.”

“I’m literally standing right here,” Robby mutters.

“You two have been divorced-married for like six months.”

“We are not—”

“You shared fries yesterday.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“You remembered her migraine medication before she did.” Robby opens his mouth. Stops. Closes it again. Dana looks vindicated immediately.

“Oh, my God.”

“Dana,” you warn weakly.

“No wonder the whole department thinks you’re sleeping together.” Silence. Complete silence. A nearby nurse actually turns around trying not to look interested. Robby stares at Dana like he’s reconsidering several HR policies simultaneously. You can physically feel heat crawling up your neck.

“We are not sleeping together,” you say tightly. Dana snorts.

“Honestly that’s worse. The tension in this department could power the city grid.” Then she walks away before either of you can recover. You stare at the floor. Robby stares somewhere over your shoulder. The protein bar gets silently placed into your hand at last. A wave of nausea fills you head to toe as your migrain pounds against your skull, and you wince and push away from the desk.

"Eat it." Robby pushes. You nod, turning away from him.

"Yeah, i will. Later-" You barely finish your sentence when your vision tunnels and you stumble. You sway a little in place before gravity does it's job and you go crashing for the floor.

"Shit !" Robby catches you before you have the chance to crack your skull open on the linoleum, fingers pressed to your neck to check your vitals. A stupid reflex. He looks up at Dana, who is walking away. "Dana ! A little help here !" He calls. Dana stops and spins around on high alert, and her eyes blow wide.

"Oh for pete's sake." She breathes, slinging her stethoscope off her neck as she runs forward. "What the hell happened ?" Robby shifts you in his arms, one hand supporting your limp neck.

"She's dehydrated. Only had coffee." He explains, his voice rough. Dana swears under breath and looks up.

"Perlah, get me some saline !" She shouts, "Santos, Whittaker, get me a bed !" Everything moves at once after that. The ER shifts shape around emergencies automatically, instinctively, like a living organism responding to injury. Nurses break into motion. A gurney appears from somewhere down the hall. Somebody lowers the volume on the television overhead. And through all of it, Robby doesn’t let go of you for even a second.

“She hit her head?” Dana asks quickly, already checking your pupils while Robby keeps you upright against his chest.

“No,” he answers immediately. “I caught her.” The speed of that answer makes Dana’s eyebrows climb. Interesting.

“BP?” she asks.

“Couldn’t get one yet.”

“She breathing okay?”

“Yes.”

“Pulse?”

“Fast.” His jaw tightens. “Too fast.” You lie limp against him completely unconscious, cheek pressed against the navy-blue fabric of his scrub top. One of your hands is curled loosely against his chest like your body just gave up trying to hold itself upright. And Jesus Christ— Robby looks terrified. Not visibly to most people. But everybody here knows him. They know the difference between Dr. Robby handling a crisis and Robby barely holding himself together through one. Langdon skids to a stop beside Mel and Samira, who have stopped in their tracks to stare at their friend passed out on the ground.

"Jesus, what happened ?" He asks, his tone wuipped.

Robby looks up, incredulous.

"The fuck does it look like Frank ? She's unconcsious !" He swears under his breath. "Whittaker ! Where the fuck is that bed ?"

“Coming through!” A stretcher rattles around the corner at full speed. Whittaker wheels a bed over fast while Santos helps clear space beside the nurses’ station.

“We got her,” Santos says carefully. Robby doesn’t move.

“Robby,” Dana says slower this time. Like she’s talking him down off something. His eyes flick up finally. For half a second he genuinely looks like he forgot anyone else was there. Then his face shutters immediately back into professional composure.

Right.

Doctor mode.

He carefully transfers you onto the bed, one hand still bracing the back of your head even after you’re safely down against the mattress.

“She’s burning up,” he mutters. Dana presses a thermometer against your forehead.

“Low-grade fever.” She frowns. “Probably running herself into the ground.”

“Shocking,” Santos mutters under his breath. Robby shoots him a look sharp enough to cut steel. Santos immediately raises both hands. “I’m just saying.”

“Get fluids running,” Robby says flatly. Dana watches him for a second too long. Then:

“How long’s this been going on?” Robby doesn’t look away from you.

“What?”

“This martyr complex of hers.” Dana gestures vaguely toward your unconscious body. “She’s looked like hell all week.”

“She said she was fine.”

“Oh my God.” Dana actually laughs once. “And you believed that?” His expression darkens immediately because— No. He didn’t. That’s the problem. He knew. He knew you were overworking. Knew you were skipping meals. Knew the migraines were getting worse because he memorized your tells months ago without meaning to. And somehow he still let this happen. The guilt crawls visibly across his face. Dana sees it instantly.

“Hey,” she says, voice softening slightly. “This isn’t on you.” Robby exhales sharply through his nose.

“She passed out standing next to me.”

“Because she’s an idiot.” A beat. Then quieter: “And because this place eats people alive.” Nobody argues with that. Perlah arrives with saline while Princess hooks you up to monitors. Your pulse flashes too fast across the screen immediately. Robby stares at it like he personally offended the laws of medicine.

“She’s gonna wake up pissed we made a scene,” Dana says knowingly. That almost gets a smile out of him. Almost. Instead he reaches down absentmindedly and brushes a strand of hair back away from your face. The entire room goes still for exactly one second. Because that— That was not a coworker gesture. Robby realizes it immediately after doing it. His hand stills. Dana’s eyes widen slowly like she just found proof of life on another planet.

“Oh,” she says very quietly. Robby straightens instantly. Professional again. Too late. Way too late. “You are so screwed,” Dana informs him with the calm certainty of someone announcing a weather forecast.

“I’m not discussing this with you.”

“You’re in love with her.” Whittaker nearly chokes in the background. Robby’s face hardens immediately.

“Dana.”

“No, no, this is actually insane now.” She points between him and your unconscious form. “You looked two seconds away from coding yourself when she hit the floor.”

“She fainted.”

“And you caught her like a grieving Victorian widower.” Silence. Santos turns around entirely to hide his laughter. Mel and Samira pretend to be busy with a chart as Mckay walks by, her brows furrowed at the scene. Langdon whistles and turns around, walking off his his hands in his pockets. Robby rubs both hands down his face hard enough to leave red marks behind.

“This conversation is over.”

“Mhmm.” Dana crosses her arms. “You gonna tell her before or after the next time she collapses from neglecting basic human survival needs?” His eyes drift back toward you automatically. Unconscious. Pale. IV running steadily now. Something in his expression shifts again. Softer this time. More dangerous.

“Soon,” he says quietly before he can stop himself. Dana goes completely still. She sighs, and her face breaks into a grin.

"Great. Abbot owes me a hundred bucks." Robby goes still.

"What ?"

-------------

The world is bright.

God, it's so bright.

You crack your eyes open and immediately regret it, groaning as the bustling sounds of the ER flood back in.

"Ah. Rise and shine, sleepy-head." You tilt your head to the side. Langdon and Mckay are in your room, Mckay down by the computer, checking your chart while Langdon is sat by your bed, adjusting the drip flow in the IV.

Wait.

Why are you in a room ?

Your voice is rough with sleep when you speak.

“…what?” Langdon grins immediately.

“Oh, she’s alive. Shame. I was just about to steal your locker.” You blink at him slowly, brain still buffering.

“…why am i in a room?” You croak. "Why are you guys in a room.. with me ?"

“Visiting hours,” McKay says dryly without looking up from the chart. “We brought flowers.” You glance around blearily. No flowers.

“…you’re both assholes.”

“Correct,” Langdon says pleasantly. Then your brain catches up.

Room.

IV.

Monitor.

The realization hits all at once and you groan, dragging a hand over your face.

“Oh my God.”

“There it is,” McKay mutters. “The embarrassment. Nature is healing.”

“How long was I out?” Langdon checks the watch on his wrist dramatically.

“Long enough for Robby to threaten three residents, snap at a nurse, and hover outside this curtain like a divorced father at a middle school dance recital.” Your stomach drops instantly.

“…what?” McKay finally looks over at you then, expression dangerously entertained.

“Oh, yeah. It was bad.”

“He scared Santos so badly she almost started crying,” Langdon adds.

“That’s not true.”

“She absolutely thought she was getting fired.”

“I did not snap at Santos,” Robby’s voice cuts in sharply from outside the curtain. Both of them immediately grin like sharks scenting blood. And then Robby steps into the room carrying a cup of coffee in one hand and an electrolyte drink in the other. He stops the second he sees your eyes open. Every inch of tension in him visibly shifts. Not gone. Just redirected.

“Oh, there he is,” Langdon says smugly. “The grieving widow.”

“Frank,” Robby says flatly.

“You were pacing.”

“I was working.”

“You checked on her seventeen times.” McKay snorts into her coffee. Robby ignores both of them completely, eyes already on you instead.

“You with us?” You nod weakly.

“Unfortunately.”

“Any dizziness?”

“Yes.”

“Nausea?”

“A little.”

“Headache?” You just stare at him. He sighs. “Right. Stupid question.” Robby looks like he wants the earth to physically open beneath him.

“Okay,” he says tightly. “Everybody out.”

“Oh, absolutely not,” Langdon says immediately.

“Frank.”

“Nope. This is the best day of my life.” Robby points toward the door with terrifying calm.

“Get out.” McKay is already cackling as Langdon lets himself be physically shoved toward the curtain. The curtain swings shut behind them amid open laughter from the hallway. Then it’s quiet again. Well. Quiet except for the distant ER chaos and your own heartbeat trying to escape your body. You stare determinedly at the blanket over your lap. Robby stares somewhere over your left shoulder. Neither of you speak for a full five seconds. He sighs, pinching his nose.

"We put you on IV Saline. You were dehydrated." He explains, walking over to the seat Langdon had previously occupied. You gulp, nodding.

"My bad." He chokes on a laugh, shaking his head.

"Yeah, it is your bad. I can't have you collapsing like that in the middle of a shift." You groan, shaking your head.

"What, would you rather I do it before ? Or after ? I'm sorry, oh ER overlord, i'll try to control my unconscious state from now on." Robby lets out a short, incredulous breath through his nose.

“Don’t get smart with me.”

“I’m not getting smart,” you say, already pushing the blanket off your legs. “I’m getting out of here.” His head snaps toward you instantly.

“…no, you’re not.” You pause mid-movement.

“Yes,” you say slowly, like he’s missed something obvious, “I am.” Robby stands up so fast the chair behind him scrapes the floor.

“You just passed out.”

“And I woke up.”

“That’s not how this works.”

“It’s exactly how it works.” You swing your legs over the side of the bed anyway, ignoring the slight sway in your balance as you reach for your shoes on instinct. Robby’s voice drops.

“Stop.” You freeze for half a second. Not because he told you to. Because of how he said it. But then you shake it off and pull your shoe on anyway.

“I’m going back to work,” you repeat. Robby moves closer immediately.

“You’re not cleared.”

“I’m fine.”

“You are not fine.” You glance up at him sharply.

“I didn’t ask for a second opinion.”

“And I’m not giving you one,” he snaps back. “I’m telling you, as the attending who just watched you hit the floor—”

“Because I forgot to eat,” you cut in. “Not because I’m dying.”

“That doesn’t make it better!” The words echo harder than either of you probably intend. Silence hits for a beat. Your fingers still on your shoe. Robby drags a hand down his face, breathing out through his nose like he’s trying not to explode.

“You don’t get to just—” He stops himself, jaw flexing. “You don’t get to walk back out there like nothing happened.” You stand up fully now. A little too fast. The room tilts slightly.

“I’ve got patients,” you say more quietly. Robby’s voice goes lower.

“So do I.” A beat. Then: “And as of right now, you are on of them. Now, I’m telling you to sit back down.” You stare at him. He stares right back. There’s no humor in it anymore. No teasing. No banter. Just that same pressure from earlier—too much concern packed into too little space. You exhale through your nose.

“…you don’t get to order me around.” Robby laughs once, sharp and disbelieving.

“Apparently I do, considering I just watched you hit the floor and scare half the department into thinking we were gonna lose you.” That lands. Harder than it should. You look away for a second. Then back at him.

“I’m not fragile,” you say again, quieter. Robby’s expression shifts instantly.

“I didn’t say you were.”

“You’re acting like I am.”

“I’m acting like you’re someone who almost cracked their skull open because they refused to take a break.” That makes you go still. A beat passes. Then you grab your badge from the bedside table. Robby’s eyes widen slightly.

“…don’t.” You clip it onto your scrub top.

“I’m going back to work.”

“No,” he says again, sharper now. You step around him. He moves with you immediately, blocking the exit. You stop. Look up at him.

“…move.” Robby doesn’t. For the first time since you woke up, he looks genuinely frustrated in a way that isn’t controlled anymore.

“You’re making a stupid call.”

“And you’re not my keeper.” That hits something in him. You see it. The flicker. The crack.

A pause. Then softer—but no less firm:

“I’m still not letting you walk out there like that.” You stare at him for a long second. Then, very deliberately, you step sideways. Not pushing past him. Not fighting. Just… going around. Robby turns instantly.

“Hey—”

“I said I’m fine,” you cut in, already heading for the curtain.

“You’re not—”

“I am,” you repeat, not stopping. Robby follows you out into the corridor. Langdon and McKay are still visible down the hall, both of them immediately clocking what’s happening and exchanging a look.

“Oh no,” Langdon murmurs. “She’s upright.” McKay winces.

“That’s worse.” Robby catches up to you.

“Seriously—stop.” You don’t.

“I’m not doing this with you right now.”

“You don’t get to just leave.” You finally stop in the middle of the hallway. Turn back to him. People move around you. A stretcher rolls past. A monitor alarm bleats somewhere in the distance. Life keeps going. Even when you’re both frozen in it.

“I have a shift,” you say calmly. “You have patients. We are both adults.” Robby looks at you like he wants to argue and can’t find the right angle anymore.

“You’re still dizzy.”

“I’ll sit if I need to.”

“You shouldn’t be standing.”

“And yet I am.” A beat. Langdon quietly mouths, this is insane, to McKay. Then you turn and keep walking. You wrap your arms around yourself, walking over to the nurse's station and picking up the chart you had left there. Your teenage patient. You sniffle and walk over to his room, pushing the curtain aside. Robby follows.

Of course he does.

You feel him before you even hear him—heavy footsteps that don’t belong to the usual ER rhythm, too deliberate, too controlled, like he’s forcing himself not to close the distance in three strides and drag you back by force.He stops just outside the curtain.You don’t look at him. You can’t afford to. There’s a chart in your hands and a patient who actually needs you upright, even if your skull still feels like it’s full of cotton and static.

“Vitals stable,” you murmur, more to yourself than anyone else.

“You don’t get to just—”

“Robby,” you cut in, sharper than you intend. A warning. Or maybe a plea. “Not here.” Silence. Then, quieter, dangerously controlled:

“You think I care where it is?” That finally makes you look at him. He’s standing half in the curtain light, half in the hallway chaos, scrubs wrinkled, hair slightly messed from running his hand through it too many times. He looks like he hasn’t stopped moving since you collapsed. His jaw is tight. Not angry anymore. Past angry.

“You passed out,” he says. “In my department. In my ER. In front of my staff. And you woke up and decided the appropriate response was to go back to work like nothing happened.”

“I am back to work.”

“No.” One step closer. “You are standing on adrenaline and spite and a saline bag that’s barely had time to do anything.” You let out a short breath, half laugh, half exhaustion.

“You always this dramatic with every patient, or am I special?” That lands. You see it hit him—right under the ribs. His expression shifts, like something in him finally snaps into place instead of being held together.

“No,” he says. Then he reaches for your wrist. Not hard. Not rough. But decisive.

“Hey—Robby—” He doesn’t answer. Just turns and walks you backward—not dragging, not forcing, but absolutely not giving you the option to argue your way out of it. You stumble once, annoyed, and he adjusts instantly without even looking, like he already knows exactly where your balance breaks.

“Seriously?” you hiss. “You’re doing this now?”

“Yes,” he says flatly.

“You can’t just abduct your attending in the middle of a shift.”

“I can when she’s about to drop again in front of Trauma One.”

“That is not—” He opens a door you didn’t even see him key into. On-call room. Small. Dim. Too quiet compared to the screaming outside. He guides you inside and shuts the door behind you. The click of the lock is loud. Final. He draws the curtains shut. For a second, neither of you moves. The room feels wrong in a different way—no monitors, no alarms, just the hum of the hospital through the walls and the two of you trapped in a space that suddenly feels way too intimate to be professional. You turn on him immediately.

“Are you serious right now?”

“Yes.” You stare at him. He stares back. Then he exhales sharply, like he’s been holding his breath for hours and finally gave up.

“Sit down.”

“No.”

“Sit,” he repeats, voice lower now. Not loud. Not angry. Final. Something in it makes your irritation falter for half a second.

“I don’t need—”

“You almost face-planted into a hallway cart,” he cuts in. “So forgive me if I don’t trust your assessment right now.” That stings. You hate that it stings.

“I told you I’m fine.”

“And I told you to stop saying that like it’s a magic spell that makes it true.” Silence snaps between you. You cross your arms. He runs a hand over his face, dragging it down like he’s physically trying to keep himself from losing control again. Then, softer—dangerously honest: “Do you have any idea what it looked like?” Your voice drops a fraction.

“No worse than what we see every day.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?” He looks at you. And whatever restraint he’s been clinging to finally slips just enough for you to see what’s underneath it.

“I thought I was going to lose you in my own department,” he says, quiet and raw. “While I was standing ten feet away.” That shuts you up. Not because you don’t have a response. Because suddenly you don’t trust your voice. Robby steps closer again, slower this time, like he’s approaching something that could still break.

“You don’t get to decide that it’s nothing,” he says. “You don’t get to walk it off because it’s convenient.” Your throat tightens.

“I wasn’t trying to make it convenient.”

“Then what were you doing?” he asks immediately. A beat. Your answer comes out smaller than you want it to.

“Working.” He lets out a humorless breath.

“Yeah,” he says. “That’s what scares me.” You frown slightly.

“What?” He looks at you like he regrets the words the second they leave him—but not enough to take them back.

“That you’ll always pick the job over your own body,” he says. “Even when it’s failing you.” Something shifts in your chest. You don’t like how seen that feels. Then he steps right in front of you. Close enough that the air changes. A pause. The hospital noise outside feels miles away. You swallow.

“This is inappropriate,” you mutter automatically, because your brain is scrambling for something safe to hold onto. His mouth twitches, not quite a smile.

“Yeah,” he says. “We passed that a while ago.” You scoff, backing away from him.

"God, Robby - Why do you care ? I'm an adult, i can handle myself-" He moves with you instantly. Not chasing. Not grabbing. Just… matching you step for step until your back meets the wall and there’s nowhere left for you to retreat without admitting you’re retreating.

“You call that handling yourself?” he asks quietly. Your jaw tightens.

“I didn’t ask for a performance review.”

“I’m not performing,” he says. “I’m telling you you scared the hell out of me.” That lands harder than anything else so far. Because it’s not clinical. It’s not Dr. Robby. It’s just him. You force a short laugh, brittle at the edges.

“You, scared?” you repeat. “You? You run trauma codes like it’s any other Tuesday and you’re telling me I scared you?” His eyes don’t move from yours.

“Yes.”Simple. Unapologetic. That shuts you up for half a second too long. Then anger finds its way back in—because it’s easier than whatever is sitting underneath it.

“You don’t get to do this,” you say, voice sharper now. “You don’t get to pull me into a room, lock the door, and act like—like—”

“Like what?” he cuts in. You gesture vaguely between you.

“Like this matters more than everything else.” Robby goes still. That’s the wrong thing to say. You see it immediately.Something in his expression tightens, like he’s been holding something behind his teeth for too long and you just forced it open.

“It does,” he says. Quiet. Flat. Absolute. Your breath catches slightly.

“No, it doesn’t,” you say automatically, because that’s safer.

“It does to me.” Silence. You stare at him, trying to find the angle where this becomes a misunderstanding you can fix with sarcasm or distance or anything familiar. But there isn’t one. Robby exhales through his nose, frustrated now—not at you, but at himself.

“You really think I’d be doing this,” he gestures between you again, sharper this time, “if it didn’t matter?”

“You’re my attending,” you say quickly. He laughs once, humorless.

“That’s what you’re going with?”

“It’s a boundary.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”Your pulse spikes.

“Excuse me?” Robby steps closer again, and this time you don’t move fast enough to stop it.

“You think I don’t know what I’m doing?” he asks. “You think I don’t know exactly how this looks? How long this has been going on?” Your throat goes tight.

“Robby—”

“I’ve been watching you almost pass out for weeks,” he snaps suddenly, voice rising. “I’ve been watching you run yourself into the ground, and I keep telling myself it’s just work, it’s just stress, it’s just—”He stops. Jaw clenches. Then quieter, but sharper somehow: “And then you collapse in front of me and I realize I don’t care if it’s ‘appropriate’ anymore.”

Your breath stutters.

“Stop,” you whisper.

He shakes his head once.

“No.” A beat. Then it comes out—rough, unplanned, like it slips through a crack he didn’t know was there. “I can’t do this pretending I don’t—” he cuts off, swallows hard, eyes flicking down for half a second like he’s annoyed at himself for losing control. “I can’t stand there and watch you walk yourself into the ground and pretend it’s nothing to me.” Your voice barely works.

“Robby…” He looks back at you. And whatever restraint he had left finally breaks cleanly.

“I’m in love with you,” he says. No softness. No buildup. Just truth, thrown into the air like it’s been suffocating him. The room goes completely still. Even the hospital noise feels distant now, like it’s happening to someone else’s life. You don’t speak. Not because you don’t have words. Because you have too many and none of them fit right. Robby watches your face change like he’s bracing for impact. And then, almost immediately, regret floods in.

“Shit,” he says quietly. One step back. “No—forget I said that.” Your stomach drops. His jaw tightens like he’s trying to physically shove the words back into his chest.

“I shouldn’t have—” he starts again, voice rougher now. “That’s not—this isn’t—”

“Robby,” you say, finally. He stops. Doesn’t look at you immediately. That alone says everything.

“I didn’t mean to make it weird,” he says, almost bitter now, like he’s punishing himself. “I just—”

'Robby."

Venice

Your voice is quiet, but it cuts through his frantic backpedaling like a scalpel. He finally stops, his shoulders slumping slightly in defeat. He still won’t meet your eyes, staring at a point on the scuffed linoleum floor like it holds the secrets to avoiding this exact moment. The silence stretches, thick and suffocating, filled with everything he just said and everything you haven’t.

“Robby,” you say again, softer this time. You take a half-step forward, closing the tiny gap he’d created. “Look at me.” He hesitates, a war playing out across his face. The urge to flee warring with the command in your voice. Finally, slowly, he lifts his gaze. The raw vulnerability in his eyes is a punch to the gut. It’s the same look he had when you were on the floor, but magnified, stripped of all clinical pretense. It’s just him. Scared. Exposed.

“I…” he starts, then stops, his throat working. “I know I shouldn’t have said that. It’s out of line. It’s—” You don’t let him finish. You surge forward, grabbing the front of his scrub top in both fists and yanking him down to you. The movement is clumsy, desperate. Your mouth crashes against his. It’s not a kiss of gentle revelation. It’s a kiss of frustration, of relief, of months of unspoken tension finally detonating. It’s all teeth and desperate pressure, a clash that’s been brewing for longer than either of you would admit. He makes a sound against your lips, a harsh, surprised groan, and for a second he’s frozen. Then his hands are on you, not gentle, not asking. One hand clamps onto the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair, holding you in place with a grip that’s just this side of painful. The other arm bands around your waist, lifting you slightly, pulling you flush against him until there’s no air, no space, just the frantic hammering of his heart against yours through the thin fabric of your scrubs. You kiss him back with everything you have, pouring all the fear from the hallway, all the annoyance at his overbearing concern, all the traitorous warmth that’s been pooling in your stomach every time he looks at you for months. You bite his lower lip, hard, and he groans again, deepening the kiss, his tongue claiming yours in a way that’s possessive and demanding and utterly, completely Robby. He walks you backward, and your back hits the wall with a soft thud that doesn’t break the kiss. He pins you there, his body a solid, warm weight, one of his thighs wedging itself between yours. The pressure is intoxicating, a dizzying contrast to the lightheadedness from before. This is a different kind of spinning out of control. One you don’t want to stop. His hand slides from your neck down your side, tracing the curve of your ribs before coming to rest on your hip, his thumb digging in, holding you captive. You can feel the frantic, unsteady rhythm of his breathing, a mirror to your own. He finally breaks the kiss, pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against yours. Both of you are breathing hard, chests heaving. The room is silent except for the sound of your ragged breaths and the distant, muffled hum of the hospital that feels worlds away.

“Christ,” he rasps, his voice thick and wrecked. His eyes are still closed, his face buried in the crook of your neck. He presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive skin just below your ear, and a shiver runs through you. “You can’t… you can’t just do that.”

“You’re the one who said you were in love with me,” you manage to get out, your voice shaky. “And then tried to take it back.”

“I wasn’t taking it back,” he says, lifting his head. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with a mix of adrenaline and something else, something hungry. “I was trying not to fuck everything up.”

“Too late for that,” you breathe, and then you’re kissing him again. It’s just as rough as before, maybe rougher. His hands are everywhere, roaming over your back, your sides, gripping your ass and pulling you harder against him. The wall is hard and unyielding at your back, and he’s solid and unyielding at your front, and you’re trapped in the best possible way. He rolls his hips against yours, a slow, deliberate grind that sends a bolt of heat straight through you, and you gasp into his mouth. He takes the opportunity to kiss a trail down your jaw, his scruff scraping deliciously against your skin. He nips at your collarbone, his hand sliding up under your scrub top, his palm hot and firm against the bare skin of your stomach.

“Robby,” you pant, your head falling back against the wall as his mouth finds that spot on your neck that makes your knees weak. “We’re… we’re in the on-call room.”

“Mhmm,” he murmurs against your skin, not stopping. “Locked the door.” His thumb brushes against the underside of your breast, and you arch into him, a soft moan escaping your lips. He chuckles, a low, smug sound that vibrates through you. “Someone could knock.”

“Don’t care,” you gasp, as his other hand tugs your scrub top out of your pants, his fingers finding the waistband of your pants. “God, don’t stop.” He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours. There’s a question there, a final check-in, but it’s buried under layers of raw want. You answer it by grabbing his hand and guiding it further down. He groans, a sound of pure, unadulterated relief, and then his mouth is on yours again. He tastes like burnt coffee and the faint metallic tang of hospital air, but there’s something else, something bitter and sweet and rawly, desperately Robby that makes you want to climb inside his chest and break his ribs open from the inside. His hand is already down the front of your scrubs, palm hot against your hipbone, fingers trembling just enough to betray everything he won’t say aloud. You fumble at the drawstring on your own waistband, frustration clawing up your throat in a low, angry whine when the knot won’t loosen fast enough. You stare up at him—mess of dark hair, sweat on his brow, pupils wide enough to swallow the brown—and wonder absently if this is what it feels like to code. For a minute nobody says anything. You just breathe, harsh and hungry and desperate, noisy enough that if anybody is in the hallway they’d know exactly what was happening in here. It’s Robby that breaks first. He makes a strangled sound, forehead dropping to yours, so hard your noses smashed together. His voice comes out low and shredded and nearly begging.

“You gotta let me know if you want me to stop.”

You don’t.

Fuck, you don’t.

You want him to break you down to single-celled organisms. you turn your head and bite the meat of his bicep, just to feel him jerk.

“Shut up and do it, then,” You mutter. Your hands drop around his shoulders, pulling him down, and the next kiss is more teeth than lips. You don’t even notice his other hand has made it to your waistband until you feel the cool slide of his hand against your skin. You’re so far gone, you don’t even feel the fear or shame anyone normal would. Can’t bring yourself to care that you’re half-pinned to a drywall partition and the edge of a cot, moaning into your supervisor’s mouth like you’re both undergrad idiots caught in a blackout at frat formal. His hand is relentless, moving fast and clever, not even bothering to be delicate. You nearly lose your balance when he presses a thumb down just right over your scrubs, and your center of gravity hops about a foot left.

“Fuck—Robby, fuck—” You hiss it against his jawline, legs starting to shake. He gets a hand under your thigh, hefts it up, then hooks your knee on his belt so all you can do is hang there and let him wreck you. Somewhere in the back of your awareness you’re listing all the ways this is the worst idea you’ve ever had, but your body refuses to stop. He’s cursing too, breathing your name into your neck, voice so rough you can feel it vibrating in his chest. You want to put a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet but you know if anyone comes in, you’re both dead anyway. He fumbles at the drawstring with clumsy, single-handed urgency, finally manages to get it untied. The relief when his fingers actually slide past the waistband is so intense your vision goes white at the edges. He doesn’t even tease—just buries his hand against you and makes a noise so dark and satisfied it spikes something hot and relentless at the base of your spine.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “You’re fucking soaked.” He says it like he means it as both a compliment and a diagnosis. Then he pushes his palm harder against you, finding every sensitive spot and working you with unerring, almost clinical precision, like he’s taking inventory of every way you can be taken apart. Your head thunks back against the wall with a little hollow sound. You want to tell him to stop, or slow down, or just breathe for maybe two seconds, but you don’t. You can’t. Instead you let yourself fall open and let him see it. The fact that you’re wrapped this tightly around him is not new information, but this—exposed, desperate—is a new evolutionary stage. He leans in, mouth back on yours, and you taste sweat, salt, and faint chemical hospital on his skin. The wall is cold at your back and his hand is molten at your front and your whole body is nothing but contrast and overload and hunger. You barely register your own hands, but they’re on him, pulling up the hem of his shirt, searching for bare skin, something to ground yourself. You feel the heat of him even through layers, alive and pulsing and real. He holds you still, fingers working in brutal, short pulses, driving you mercilessly toward the edge. It’s not careful. It’s not gentle. It’s like he’s making a point. Like he’s proving to you, to himself, to God, that you’re not going to scare him off, not ever. You come like a detonation. It rips through you so hard your vision whites out again and you clench around his hand. He groans, slowly slipping his fingers out of you before taking a step back away from your and pulling down your scrub pants. You gulp as you watch him undo the drawstring on his own pants, your mouth watering with need. The cold air against your exposed cunt is making you clench involuntarily, and the only thing you want right now is to have him inside of you. He pulls his pants down, only enough to free himself, and the air feels like it’s knocked out of your chest. His cock slaps up against his stomach, flushed dark, thick and heavy with blood, and the sight alone is enough to make you squeeze your thighs together in anticipation, shivering even though the room is sweltering. He spits in his palm, slicks himself, then walks over to you. His hands hook beneath your thighs and you jump up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he presses you against the wall. He pushes your hair back from your face, kisses your nose. He doesn’t waste a second. The first thrust is brutal, messy, all pent-up frustration and months of not acting on impulse. He’s thick—bigger than you’d let yourself admit in all those late-night, shamefaced fantasies—and the stretch steals the air from your lungs. Your jaw drops open, eyes rolling back as you lock on to the faces he’s making: mouth slack, eyebrows knit, a bead of sweat at his temple that you want to lick off more than you want to live. He’s got both hands under your ass, fingers digging hard enough to bruise, holding you up so all you can do is take it. And you do, with everything you have, bearing down on him so you can feel every inch, every twitch. He huffs a shaky, humorless laugh, the kind you only make when you’re so overwhelmed you can’t do anything else.

“You okay ?” He rasps, kissing his way up your neck. The sound that comes out of you isn’t even a word. He pounds into you with another deep, brutal stroke and your body locks up so tight you’re glad he’s the one holding you or you’d have fallen flat. Every thrust slams your spine into the drywall and it should hurt, it should, but all you can do is claw at his shirt, nails catching the rough cotton, dragging it up over his ribs so you can feel him—real, alive, so much hotter than any fever you’ve ever run in the hospital. The slap of skin, the hiss of your breathing, the mangled noises you’re making—all of it so loud, vulgar, so perfectly, awfully public even behind the locked door. He’s whispering shit into your neck. At first you think it’s curse words, but then you catch your own name buried in there, and then more, like instructions, like hymns.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he says, the words punching out of him like he’s angry about it. “God, you’re unreal.” His hips snap again, harder, and your shoulders knock back against the wall, sharp bite of drywall dust filling your nose. Each time he thrusts in, your vision smears around the edges, the pleasure so hot it borders on pain. It isn’t like you pictured, not really—it’s better. The angle, the rush, the way he bullies all the air out of your lungs with every movement. Your hands are in his hair, clawing tight, pulling him down so you can mouth at his neck, take the taste of him into yourself. He shoves your scrubs up higher, rough hands leaving trails of heat on cold skin, then fists one hand in the fabric at your shoulder, pinning you harder to the cinderblock. There is nothing gentle, nothing careful, nothing but his body taking yours apart, and yours letting him, wild for it. He keeps muttering, a string of filthy reverence against your ear:

“Can’t believe it’s you, can’t believe you let me—fuck, you’re so—Jesus, clench again, just like that—” The words run together, get lost under the wet slap of skin and the broken sounds you’re making. You can’t answer except to dig your heels into his lower back, desperate to keep him as close as possible, to force him deeper, to make certain it’s real. This has to be real. For months you both acted like this wasn’t going to happen, like you didn’t live your whole life in inches, waiting for the day the rules would break and you’d get to see what would actually happen if you let go. Now you’re against the wall, and he’s inside of you raw and fast and a little bit mean, and every expectation is dissolving in a haze of salt and friction and heat. You want to tell him he can do anything to you, that there is nothing off-limits, but all that comes out is a shattered little whine, just his name, again and again. He bites your collarbone, sucks a mark there, and the pain is almost enough to bring you back down, but you’re already spiraling. Robby’s voice is a chant in your ear, weirdly reverent, filthy and devotional all at once. He’s running hot, sweat trickling down his neck, the muscles in his forearms taut as bowed steel where he brackets your hips. Each thrust slams you against the wall hard enough to rattle the fluorescent hum down to your teeth. You know you’ll have drywall dust embedded under your nails, maybe even in your hair, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Your world is reduced to the vicious, deliberate drag of his cock inside you, the scratch of his stubble jaw against your cheek, the gasp-and-hitch cadence of your own lungs. His hand slips, finds your jaw, thumb prying your mouth open.

“Look at me,” he grates. It’s not a request. You do, eyelids dragging heavy, drool stringing from your lips. He shoves his thumb inside and you clamp down on it, tongue greedy, and watch his resolve ripple and snap at the edges. “Fuck, you love this,” he hisses. A hot, shameful thrill blooms in your gut. You can’t even nod; your brain’s gone chemical, all instinct and nerve and the urge to let him ruin you properly. He pulls his thumb free from your teeth, then brings his hand back to grip your jaw, rough, almost cruel.

“You gonna come for me like this?” His pelvis snaps up, grinding you against concrete. “You gonna soak me, right here, where anybody could walk in?” He means it as a threat, but the promise makes something deep in you uncurl and spiral tight. You dig your nails into his back and feel the give of his skin, the helpless rocking of your own hips. You’re close again—embarrassingly, stupidly fast—and he can tell, because he starts fucking you even meaner, chasing the edge with all the subtlety of a gunshot.

“Jesus,” he says, “you feel so good, I can’t—fuck. I can’t stop.” Like he’s ever going to. You snarl something incoherent, probably his name, and you feel the tension crest, shatter, and pour out in waves so intense you lose track of your own body. Robby keeps moving, not letting up for a second. Everything’s too much: the raw thud of your shoulderblades grinding cinderblock, the way your ankles have locked behind his back, the friction and heat and static spit-glue between your skin. You try to tell him you’re gonna lose it but only manage a wild, choked keening that doesn’t sound like it could belong to you. He drops his head to your shoulder, teeth scraping, and groans your name so low and honest it makes your toes curl. There is nothing in the world but this. Nothing but him pinning you, holding you, fucking you like he’s lost count of where the rest of the world even is. Your hands are in his hair, wrenching, and you yank his head up so you can bite at his bottom lip. He lets you, gives a little gasp, then locks eyes with you and pours all that manic, frantic reverence right into the next kiss, mouthing at your skin and then burying his face in your neck like he’s drowning. The pace gets relentless—body-shocking, staccato, sharp even through the haze of it. He fucks through your aftershocks as if it’s a challenge, like the goal is to keep your body from ever regaining equilibrium. When you come again it’s so loud you’re sure the ward must hear; he clamps his hand over your mouth, eyes blown so scared and wild, but the pulse of his cock inside you says he’s not really trying to stop you so much as channel every iota of your body back into his. His own rhythm gets jerky, sloppier, and his mouth drops open against your jaw as he pins you tight and starts to lose it.

“Fuck, oh fuck, gonna—” His body locks, hips jammed flush against you, and you feel him pulse hard, the warmth spilling inside you like he’s pumping more heat into an already-overloaded core. He’s breathless, shaking, still pressed in deep as if he can’t trust gravity to hold you together otherwise. You stay like that, tangled, your cunt still rippling around him, both gulping at the hot, sick air, until your numb legs make you both slide down the wall in a graceless heap.

You’re both wrecked. Sweaty and glassy-eyed, scrub shirts sweat-stuck to your ribs, bodies still twitching in the late echoes of what the fuck just happened. There’s a sheet of drywall dust on your back and your own fingernail crescented into his skin; he’s smiling, shit-eating, delirious, and you’d punch him if you weren’t still shaking like a defibrillator just went off under your sternum.

He leans in, a gentle press of lips to your forehead, and you want to tell yourself it’s just an autonomic reaction, that the only thing happening here is a literal pressure release after months of idiotic, unyielding need. But you know better. The way he holds your face, the way he says your name soft into your hair, the way he’s still—still—inside you, hips slotted to hips, like he can’t bear to break the circuit.

You roll your head to stare at him. He meets your gaze, a thundercrack of worry, awe, and something else you don’t have the energy to name. You want to say something pointed and clever, but you can’t ; all you manage is a noise, somewhere between a laugh and a whimper.

It should be awkward.

It should be so fucking awkward.

He kisses your face as he slips out of you and shoves himself back inside his pants before dropping you slowly to the floor, hands braced at your waist as your legs wobble. He slips your own pants and underwear back up your thighs, looking up at you.

“You okay ?” He asks, his voice soft.

“Yeah,” you say, and it’s weird, how true it is. You blink, vision still dazzled and dopplered, and catch Robby’s hand trembling where it rests on your hip. The shake is microscopic, like a skipped frame in film, but it’s there, and it’s only then you realize you’re vibrating too. You try to laugh, and the sound cracks, warbles, but he mirrors it, leaning in until your foreheads tap, bone on bone. He smells like fresh sweat and latex and the antiseptic tang of someone who’s spent an entire adulthood hunched over sterile trays. He rubs his thumb slow circles at your waist, and the gentleness is so unexpected, so at odds with the way he just had you, that you almost start crying on the spot. You swallow it back and close your hand over his, try to will him not to let go just yet. You listen together to the radiators pop and the wild rattle of your pulse. He keeps his head dipped, mouth resting on the curve where your neck meets your shoulder. Neither of you moves. He’s still breathing you in, slow, like he’s afraid if he does it too fast, it’ll all be over.

“Didn’t hurt you, did I?” he whispers, so low you almost miss it beneath the thonk of your heart in your ears. You want to make a joke, something flippant, but you’re too raw. It all comes out honest, whether you like it or not.

“No. You could’ve hurt me more.” The silence after feels like a dropped glass; sharp, fragile, ready to split the air. Robby closes his eyes. You see every microflinch, the way his throat sticks around the swallow, how he steadies himself before answering.

“‘Kay. Just—” He hesitates, and you sense it’s the kind of pause he’d usually grease over with a quip. Not now. Now he’s counting on you to stay, just a little, and not run. “I’ll be gentle next time. Or not. Whatever you want.” He tries to smile, but it turns lopsided, uncertain. You grab him by the collar, tug him in for a kiss that’s less a collision and more a hinge opening, slow, like letting light into a dark corridor. You can taste the apology before he says it. You hate that you love it. Robby pulls away, eyes shiny in the half-light. He nudges your nose with his, then plants a kiss at the corner of your mouth, softer than anything he’s ever done. It feels as reverent as a benediction.

“You should lie down,” he says. “Your legs are—” he gestures with a shrug, then glances down and grins sheepish. “Sorta toast.”

“My legs are awesome, thank you,” you say, but you lean your full weight into him anyway, allowing yourself to be steered to the bed. He maneuvers you down with surprising care, one arm looped around your back, the other smoothing your hair off your sweaty forehead. He smiles down at you, sighing.

“I’ll go get you some saline. You are on bedrest for the next two hours.” You frown, gasping.

“Oh you devious fuckwad.” You mutter. "This was your plan all along.' You grumble.

"No." He says, and then winces. "Okay. Maybe. I was initially planning to just lock you in here.. I didn't play on telling you I love you and coming inside you. That... was a slight hitch in my plan." You roll your eyes.

"You're an asshole."

"An asshole who doesn't want you to run yourself into the ground." He mutters, brushing your hair away from your face. You sigh annoyedly.

"Fine. You win. Two hours." Robby grins, triumphant.

"Ah. Look who finally is listening to reason." He presses a kiss to your forehead. "I'll go get the Saline from Perlah. Don't move." You roll your eyes, swatting at him.

"Ha-Ha."

“And water. And probably something vaguely edible that passes for food in this place.” You reach out and catch his wrist before he can leave. He stops instantly.

“Robby.”

“Yeah?” You look at him for a second—really look. Tired. Stressed. Still half in doctor mode even after everything. And completely, unapologetically here.

“I love you too,” you say quietly. Something in his expression breaks open again. It’s not dramatic.It’s worse than that. It’s steady.

"I know.” You let go of his wrist. He holds your gaze one more second, then forces himself to move—because he still knows how to function even when his entire emotional life is on fire. The hallway is chaos again the second Robby steps out. He’s halfway to the supply station when he sees him. Abbot. Clocking in. Standing dead still. Staring straight at the on-call room door like he’s just witnessed a miracle or a crime or both. Robby doesn’t even slow down. He walks past him, grabs the saline bags, and says flatly, without looking up:

“You owe Dana a hundred bucks.” Abbot blinks.

A beat. Abbot stares at the door again. Then lets out a long, defeated breath.

“Son of a bitch.”

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